


deep in the meadow

by glamouroki, milkywaykaashi



Series: sunaosa hunger games [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Crying, Dystopia, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Nightmares, Or Is It?, Romance, Slow Burn, Survival, Unrequited Love, War, there's crack and fluff... if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:01:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamouroki/pseuds/glamouroki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkywaykaashi/pseuds/milkywaykaashi
Summary: After his brother gets chosen to join a deadly tournament, Miya Osamu makes the reckless decision to take his place, in which only one out of the twenty-four participants will survive.Overcome by the fear of losing his best friend forever, Suna Rintarou volunteers as tribute alongside him.Osamu hadn't thought of anything else but saving Atsumu when he volunteered, but what lies upon boarding the train to the Capitol is far, far more sinister and dangerous.Thus sparks the beginning of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: sunaosa hunger games [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993111
Comments: 111
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

As a reminder of the rebellion against the Capitol, each of twelve districts shall offer up two tributes— a _male or female_ between the ages of twelve and eighteen — at a gathering known as the public “Reaping”. This is the price the districts must pay for their wrongful betrayal against the Capitol. Following the public “Reaping”, these tributes shall be delivered onto the custody of the Capitol, wherein they will be transferred to an open arena— then fight to the death— until only one remaining tribute wins.   
  
_Henceforth and forevermore, this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games._

  
___________________________________________________________________________________

A high-pitched scream tears through the chilly, morning air, a sound that stands out amongst the chirping of birds and clanking of metal.

"Shh, shh," Atsumu shushes the crying girl in his arms, hugging her close to his chest. He cards his hand through her black hair, trying to soothe her, "It's okay, yer okay. It was jus' a dream."

Osamu stares at her from the doorway, his heart still racing in his chest after being rudely awoken. It isn't uncommon to wake up to the sound of his sister screaming, as this always happens on the day of the Reaping.

Living in such a place with underlying fear always does these things to you, it's only normal for her to wake up screaming of fear after dreaming of horrible things.

"You were chosen, 'Tsumu-nii," she whimpers, still reeling from her nightmare as she hides her face in her palms. "You were chosen, I saw them take you away..."

Atsumu shushes her again, gently rocking her, "Ya were just dreaming. Ya were just dreaming, Nene."

"It's our last year as eligible Reaping age," Osamu chimes in, crouching down in front of her. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, smiling, "After this, we'll be free from any Reaping."

"But me." Nene says quietly. "I'm only 12."

A pang of fear shoots through his heart, but he quickly swallows it down, not letting it show on his face. The last thing he'd want for today is to make her more scared.

"Unless," Osamu holds up a finger. "Ya don't do anything that needs ya to put yer name in."

"And," Atsumu interjects. "It's also only yer first year, your name's been in there once. They're not gonna choose ya."

"But what about my dream?" she questions, innocent eyes wide with fear. "I saw Atsumu-nii get taken away! I don't—"

She hiccups, tears rolling down her cheeks, "I don't want them to take him away! Not like Mama and Papa!"

Atsumu pulls her closer to his chest when she begins to sob again, sharing a concerned look with his twin.

"It was just a dream." Atsumu repeats himself, rubbing her arm. "Th-"

He pauses, his voice suddenly not coming out. What was he about to say? _That's not going to happen? That won't be happening?_

 _As if_ , he thinks bitterly. They have lived in fear all this time, in fear of losing the only people they have left, in fear of getting separated, in fear of getting Reaped. Even if it doesn't seem possible, there's always a chance one of them would get chosen every Reaping.

He'd be lying to her if he said it.

"It was just... a dream," he finds himself repeating, not knowing what else to say.

"We'll be fine," Osamu's voice snaps him out of his daze, his eyes blinking away the hazy cloud in them. He watches as his twin reached up to wipe away a stray tear on her face, smiling reassuringly. "Don't you worry 'bout us, otherwise yer gonna get wrinkles at twelve."

Osamu cups her cheek, gently caressing her cheekbone with his thumb. He hums, "Let's see a smile, yeah?"

Nene lets out a quiet giggle, visibly calming down as a small smile blooms on her face. Osamu's only grew wider, his eyes crinkling at the sides, "That's more like it, little buttercup."

A warm smile unknowingly creeps onto Atsumu's face as he watches the exchange between his siblings, his heart slightly melting from the sight of Osamu's beaming smile to hearing Nene's soft giggles, her tears no where to be seen.

She turns to look at Atsumu, meeting his fond gaze, "Can you sing for me?"

"Yes, of course," Atsumu replies, adjusting himself so that he'd be seated on the edge of her bed.

He clears his throat, his hand petting her head as she rested it on his chest. He begins to sing, the lyrics of their mother's lullaby flowing out of his mouth like water, " _Deep in the meadow, under the willow..._ "

She closes her eyes, smiling softly as she basked in her older brother's warmth, enjoying the comfort it brought.

" _A bed of grass, a soft green pillow..._ "

Osamu quietly gets up, turning to exit the room when he felt someone grab his wrist, ultimately making him halt in his place.

Upon looking over his shoulder, he met stern hazel eyes, a silent question in them which asks, _where are you going?_

"I'm going out." Osamu explains. "I won't be long."

Atsumu frowns, but his gaze softens a little. He releases his grip on Osamu's wrist, eyes falling back to their little sister as he continued to sing. Osamu steps out of her room, walking into the living room, hearing his brother's voice fade the farther he went.

Their cat, a fluffy ginger thing, hisses at him the moment he enters its view. He wonders why Nene loves him so much.

He scowls, "I'll still cook ya."

Throwing on his coat, he jogs out of his house, running through the barren wasteland he calls a neighborhood.

People are already out and about, even if the sun has only risen. He could see a few people heading out to the mines with their equipment in tow, most likely those who are past Reaping age.

His eyes roam around the depressive state of his district, even more so since it's Reaping day. Everyone he passes wear grim faces, looking as if death came to visit them privately the moment they woke.

District 12 is probably the poorest out of all the districts. People who live here are normally coalminers who have to live hand-to-mouth, a stark contrast to those who live lavishly in the Capitol, free of any worries.

Sneaking past the electric fence, he runs off into the woods after making sure no one saw him, disappearing behind thick bushes and large leaves. He stops at a tree, reaching in between the thin crevice to pull out his bow and quiver.

A few birds fly overhead, chirping their usual melody as Osamu continues to trek deeper into the forest, bow held firmly in his hands. He freezes when he hears the sound of twigs breaking, moving to hide behind a tree when a deer comes out into the open in search of fresh green grass.

 _No way_ , his eyes widen in surprise.

Osamu moves closer to the unsuspecting animal, couching behind a thick bush. He nocks his arrow and pulls his bow-string taut, aiming it directly at the deer's chest.

The black-haired boy lets out a quiet breath and steadies his hands, making sure to keep as quiet as possible, knowing that any little sound could spook it off. His fingers slowly move, about to release the string when—

"Having fun without me now, are you?"

He startles, accidentally letting the arrow sharply fly into the tree right next to the deer. It takes off in a frenzy and disappears behind a thicket of bushes, ultimately leaving Osamu speechless as he stares at the rustling bushes with a defeated look.

He whirls around, brows furrowing in anger, glare directed at the man who towered over him with a bright grin, "Rin!"

Suna erupts into a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubled over. "You should've seen your face!"

"That was the first deer I've seen in a year." Osamu groans, his shoulders sagging.

"What were you even going to do with it after you shoot it?" Suna chuckles, standing upright as he watched Osamu go fetch his arrow.

Osamu huffs, yanking his arrow out of the wood, "I was going to sell it to some Peacekeepers." 

"Really?" Suna raises a brow, a smirk making its way onto his lips.

Osamu rolls his eyes, scoffing, "Like _you_ don't sell to Peacekeepers."

"I do, but today of all days?" Suna hums, bending down to pick up a rock. "Not a chance. The Reaping is starting later, and this place will be crawling with Peacekeepers."

Osamu presses his lips into a thin line, his grip on his arrow tightening, "Right. Of course."

Suna lets out a sigh, staring at his friend with an amused smile. He looks up, his grin growing wider.

"Look alive, 'Samu!" he shouts, throwing the rock at some trees and frightening a flock of birds. They fly into the sky, and Osamu easily shoots one down, the animal dropping onto the ground with a light thud. He turns to look at Suna, before the two of them break out into chuckles.

|———|

"I really don't get why they have to hold this every year," Suna sighs, peering off into the distance as the wind plays with his hair, making a few strands of his black hair sway on his forehead. "I mean, it's the same thing every year, doesn't it get boring?" 

"Not for the Capitol, it doesn't," Osamu scoffs, trying to find some comfort in the gentle breeze, but his fears still linger in the back of his head, taunting him from where he couldn't reach. "Blood and death are their favourite, remember?" 

"What happens if everyone just stops watching one day?" Suna turns his head, looking at the man sitting beside him. "Wouldn't that just stop the Games?" 

"Not happening," Osamu huffed, bringing his knees to his chest. "If it gets boring for them, all they have to do is complain and the Gamemakers will change things up. We're just toys for them. People in a show for them to love, hate and cry over."

Silence falls between them, the only sounds being the wind as it howled in their ears. Osamu gazes at the green meadow with a blank gaze, his hand gripping the fabric of his pants. _Nothing but toys, that's what we—_

"We could hide and live in the forests." Suna suggests out of the blue, and Osamu nearly snaps his neck when he whips his head to look at him, meeting his friend's sharp eyes. Suna's olive hues look as serious as they usually are, Osamu feels small under his scrutinizing gaze.

Osamu furrows his brows, staring into his friend's eyes with a look of disbelief, "Ya can't be serious."

"C'mon, 'Samu. We could do it," Suna sits up, leaning closer to Osamu who nearly inched back out of surprise, feeling his cheeks start to warm at the closeness. Suna doesn't seem to notice, though.

"We can't." Osamu answers somberly, quickly looking away. "I have Nene and 'Tsumu."

"They can come too." Suna adds without hesitation.

That makes Osamu crack up. "Ya serious?" he laughs, staring at the grass with a smile, "Nene? In the forest?"

Suna snorts, laying back down on the grass, "You're right."

Osamu stands up, brushing off the dirt on his clothes. He looks down at his friend, who doesn't seem like he was planning on getting up anytime soon as he continued to rest on the grass. He flashes a smile as real he could while saying, "See ya at the Reaping, Rin."

Suna closes his eyes, sighing, "See you, 'Samu."

They part ways, with Osamu sprinting down the hill to run back to his home while Suna was left on the hill.

Osamu returns to the comfort of their home just in time to see Nene standing in front of the mirror wearing her new dress, a blank expression on her face.

"Ya look beautiful." is his immediate response. He moves closer to adjust her sleeve, patting down the creases. "The dress suits ya." 

There's a dramatic gasp from behind them, which makes Osamu roll his eyes on instinct. "My compliments are saved for _only_ my little sister, 'Tsumu." 

The childish whining he receives from his twin in return is within expectations, but Osamu turns around nonetheless to face a sulking Atsumu. He huffs, "Sometimes I wonder if yer really the older twin."

"Am I dead to ya?" Atsumu asks flatly, arms crossed against his chest. 

Osamu stares at him up and down. "Well for one, yer ugly." he comments jokingly, sharing a giggle with Nene when Atsumu sputters. 

"We look exactly the same! If I'm ugly, yer ugly too." Atsumu protests. When Osamu continues ignoring him, he relents, offering not more than an annoyed click of his tongue as he approaches his little sister, grabbing a stool to sit on behind her. 

"Nene, ya don't think I'm ugly, do ya?" Atsumu says, combing the soft waves that cascade down her back with a hairbrush. "'Samu's just bein' a jerk." 

Nene shrugs, hands folded neatly in her lap as she allows her brother to style up her hair. "I think you're both handsome." is her reply, eyes crinkling as she grins at Atsumu in the mirror. 

"Ah, right! 'Samu, your clothes are laid out on the bed. Get ready and let's go." Atsumu tells him, completing the finishing touches on Nene's braids.

The sharp alarm blaring loudly in the distance causes Atsumu to let out a surprised swear. Nene tenses noticeably, which makes him twist his lips into a frown. He squeezes her shoulders, smiling weakly at her in the mirror, "Good to go."

Osamu comes out of the bedroom wearing clothes similar to Atsumu's. His bangs are swept to the side, and judging by the expression on his face, it's clear he heard the alarm as well. His brother walks up to him to flatten a few folds on his shirt, then offering him the same smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

When they exit the house, the first thing Osamu notices is the sheer amount of Peacekeepers carrying weapons present for the event. The last time he saw this scenario was only the previous year, but the intense atmosphere makes him gulp just as hard. 

Teenagers Osamu has come to recognise wear faces as sour as last year, along with the years before that. They gather at the center of town silently, but Osamu can _feel_ the tension. It obviously has something to do with the pressuring and uncomfortable presence of Peacekeepers in their district.

A woman covered in what must be at least several layers of foundation and makeup, wearing a uniquely designed dress— the only splash of colour visible in the midst of dull grey and white of their district— steps onto the stage. She approaches the microphone stand, clearing her throat. 

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games." she announces, bright red lips forming a wide smile. "And may the odds be ever in your favor. Before we begin, we have a very special film to show everybody, brought to you all the way from the Capitol." 

The large screen behind her starts playing. From the corner of Osamu's eye, he spots Suna not too far away in the crowd, smirking at him. _"War. Terrible war."_ he mouths at him, mocking the voice in the film they've watched multiple times now. Osamu suppresses the urge to laugh in favor of getting seen by Peacekeepers.

_"Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them and protected them—"_

Osamu doesn't bother listening to the rest of it. He's grown sick of this film he's heard for the last few years in a row, and everyone already knows its aim is to brainwash people into obeying the Capitol. A quick side-glance at the rest of the crowd tells Osamu that many are thinking the same as him, looking fairly uninterested. 

They're all aware everyone around fears what comes next after the film finishes. The _Reaping._

The inspirational music stops, followed by the microphone screeching, thus snapping Osamu back to reality. He blinks, focusing on the figure standing on the stage. She grins, clasping her hands together excitedly, filling dread within Osamu with every movement she makes. 

"Now comes the best part," the escort declares. "We will now choose two courageous tributes to represent District 12 in the 74th Hunger Games." she explains, stepping back from the microphone to dip her hand into the glass bowl filled with hundreds of names written on pieces of papers.

She picks one out of the bunch, making her way back to the microphone stand to unfold it. 

"Our lucky tribute for the 74th Hunger Games will be..." the escort pauses, a gleeful smile on her face. The audience stiffens in silence. "Miya Atsumu!" 

The gears running in Osamu's brain halts. Blood roars in his ears, his mind playing the escort calling out _Atsumu's_ name on repeat. His mouth feels dry, head whipped to the side to look at his brother, bewildered. Atsumu looks as if he could barely breath, obviously horrified.

"Miya Atsumu." the escort says again firmly, eyes searching the audience eagerly. The Peacekeepers start moving. "Where are you, dear?" 

People around them shuffle out of the way, all staring at Atsumu. Some of them seem flushed with relief, while the others send him looks of pity. The shock hasn't quite left Atsumu's face yet, but his feet start walking on their own and soon he's led out of the crowd of teenagers by several Peacekeepers. 

Osamu looks at Atsumu getting further and further, pale-stricken with fear. He's sweating, heart pounding loudly in his chest and now he can't stop thinking of the probability that his twin brother would _never_ come home after this—

"Wait!" Osamu finds himself shouting, pushing past other people to follow his brother. His voice is hoarse, everyone's gazes are trained on him, but he doesn't _care._ "I volunteer! I... I volunteer as tribute." 

Atsumu's eyes are blown wide. 

"It seems we have a volunteer!" the escort says, sounding pleasantly surprised with the turn of events. "How noble." 

"No, _no_!" Atsumu hisses, pushing past the group of Peacekeepers to grab Osamu's shoulders, eyes burning into his. "What are ya doing?!"

Osamu clenches his fists, offering his twin a trembling smile, "Making sure ya live a longer and happier life."

"Get moving." a Peacekeeper mutters. 

Atsumu screams, struggling against the Peacekeepers as they pull him back, " _No!_ 'Samu, ya can't be doing this, _ya can't—_ I could've handled it, 'Samu! _OSAMU!"_

Osamu shudders, slowly making his way to the stage with Peacekeepers surrounding him like hawks. He hears a faint cry from the females' side, and he sucks in a deep breath, knowing full well it was his sister.

"Come on, dear." the escort coos at Osamu as he gets closer to the stage, gently tugging him towards the microphone. "What's your name?" 

Osamu inhales a deep breath, staring at the crowd. His twin brother is still shrieking protests, which are quickly drowned out by the threats of Peacekeepers. He tries to look for Nene, but the escort and the rest of the audience are still waiting for his answer. 

"Miya Osamu." he says. 

The escort hums. "I'm assuming that was your twin brother whom you volunteered for?" she chuckles. "You look identical." 

Nodding, Osamu closes his eyes for a moment. "Yes." he whispers shakily. 

"How sweet of you." she praises, looking away to once again to dip her hand into the glass bowl of names. "Now, as for our other lucky tribute—" 

Osamu opens his eyes, ultimately failing to calm himself down from what happened just mere minutes ago. He's surprised when his gaze suddenly catches with a pair of slender golden eyes in the sea of faces below the stage. 

Suna's sharp eyes burn into Osamu's with a look only he knew so well, after being with him for so long. Time feels as if it's slowing down as he watched Suna raise his hand into the air, unable to speak, scream or yell for him to stop. Maybe this is what Atsumu felt as he was taken away.

Suna's voice booms over the murmurs of the crowd, determined eyes never leaving his as he yells with all his might, "I volunteer for the Hunger Games with Miya Osamu!"

The escort halts her choosing at Suna's loud declaration. She removes her hand out of the bowl, eyes nearly as wide as Osamu's. "Lovely!" she exclaims. "Bring the brave young boy up here, if you please." 

Osamu watches in horror as his friend is brought up to the stage by several Peacekeepers. Suna stands by his side, chancing a glance at him to meet Osamu's astonished gaze, which he returns with a small smile.

"Your name, darling?" the escort asks Suna. 

"Suna Rintarou." he says, hands balled up at his sides.

"Well, we have our two tributes!" the escort exclaims happily into the microphone. Osamu makes eye contact with Atsumu in the crowd, and his twin's eyes were filled with pain and tears, his arms holding Nene close as she wept into his chest. The younger holds his gaze for a long while before the escort's voice interrupts him from his trance. 

"Now, let's give them a round of applause." she encourages, clapping her hand with a bright smile. No one does as told, but everyone Osamu can see in his point of view bring up their hands to their faces, pressing three fingers to their lips before holding them out in the air. 

Speechless, Osamu's lips are quivering. He feels the sudden urge to bawl his eyes out. Reality has yet to truly dawn on him. This is really _happening._

"Happy Hunger Games!" he distantly hears the escort announce merrily, his own heartbeat louder than her voice. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

Before he could lose himself in his thoughts, the escort taps both him and Suna on the shoulder, ushering them behind the large wooden doors behind the stage. The sight of the audience disappears after the doors slam close, but Osamu couldn't bear looking back anyways. 

|———|

After getting shoved into a separate room from Suna by a Peacekeeper, Osamu paces around the library, sometimes anxiously picking at his fingernails. He's been staring out the window for what feels like hours now. 

The door abruptly creaks open, followed by a stern voice, "You have three minutes." 

"'Samu-nii!" his sister cries out. Osamu outstretches his arms in time for Nene to jump into his embrace. He cups her cheeks, getting a clear look at the puffiness around her eyes. His heart aches terribly, but he cracks a smile nevertheless and wipes her tears away with the back of his knuckles.

"It's going to be okay." Osamu assures, holding her close. "Don't cry. I'm going to be fine, alright?" 

"J-Just try to win, you're strong." Nene croaks, her voice as soft as a broken whisper. Her small fists clench around his black hair, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "You promise, right? Try to win, will you? Then come back home." 

"Nene, look at me." Osamu coaxes, "I'll win, and then I'll come back safe. That, I promise. Ya know I never break promises, and I'm strong, right?" 

Despite still looking dishevelled and rather hesitant, Nene nods, slowly untangling her arms from where they were tightly wrapped around his neck.

With one hand ruffling her hair, Osamu lifts his head to stare at Atsumu. "Hey, 'Tsumu." 

Atsumu moves closer, prompting Osamu to spread his arms. His brother hugs him tight, and also gifts him with a smack on his shoulder. "Yer an idiot, 'Samu."

Osamu laughs, patting Atsumu's back. "Don't injure me before sending me off, will ya?" 

"I'd do more than just this for volunteering for me, but we're running out of time." Atsumu murmurs solemnly, squeezing his brother's shoulder. He manages a trembling smile. "Take care of yerself, moron. Don't die and come back home, or we'll never forgive ya." 

"I know." Osamu mumbles softly.

"And... here," Atsumu digs through his pocket, pulling out a small pin with a bird embedded on it. It shines in the sunlight when he placed it on Osamu's palm, reflecting a golden streak onto his cheek.

He tilts his head. "What's this?"

Atsumu simply smiles, his eyes watery, "To protect ya."

"Time's up." the Peacekeeper standing guard says, pulling Nene and Atsumu out the door. Nene shrieks in protest while Atsumu's face twitches irritatedly, defiance flashing through his expression. He doesn't do anything but wrap his arms around Nene's shoulders, giving Osamu a look he understands well. 

_Keep your promise, okay?_

The door closes, and his family members are gone. Osamu bites on his bottom lip, burning the last image he had of his brother and sister in his head. He knows they wouldn't be seeing each other for quite some time. Clipping the pin onto his breast pocket, he turns to look out the window once again, trying to take in what he could of his district before his departure.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Suna has been staring at the doors blankly, before sighing and moving to sit at the couch provided. Osamu is probably saying his goodbyes to his siblings right now, Suna could only imagine it'd be a teary one. After all, they're going to be sent to an arena where they'll fight to the death. This might be the last time they'll ever see him.

A few more minutes fly by, with Suna fighting to keep his eyes off the wooden doors as he swallows down the disappointment clawing its way up his chest, leg bouncing anxiously.

Who was he kidding? There's nobody who's going to come and say goodbye to him. They were all gone.

His parents passed away when he was 7, siblings Reaped back-to-back in the previous Hunger Games and killed in the most gruesome ways ever imagined, leaving him to be the sole survivor of his family ever since his older sister had her throat slit in the 69th Hunger Games six years ago. He's all alone, he had known that for a while now.

But why— just _why_ does he still have that underlying feeling of wanting someone to come? To burst through those doors and hug him, cry for him— _to say goodbye_?

He brings his hands up, rubbing his face with his palms. He sighs, "Get yourself together, Rintarou."

He pushes his hair back, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to keep his thoughts at bay. _Nobody_ 's gonna walk through those doors, they're all _gone_.

Since a long, long time ago—

"Sunarin." 

He nearly gets whiplash due to how fast he looks up, right on cue for him to see a mop of black hair as someone pulls him into a tight embrace. His eyes slowly look down at the person's back, feeling his eyes start to sting with tears.

Atsumu hugs him tight, holding him close like how a mother would do to a child, "Take care of yerself, 'kay? Look after 'Samu for me if ya can too."

He pulls away, Suna almost begs for him to not. His friend looks at him in the eye, smiling, "We'll be watching, Nene and I, give the Capitol one hell of a show, yeah?"

"Atsumu..." Suna murmurs. He nods, "...I will."

Oddly, his chest fills with warmth, hit with the reminder of why he's even here in the first place. He wants to support Osamu, and he doesn't think he could stand to see his best friend die through the screen of a television.

"Thanks for coming." he says. Atsumu grins, patting him on the shoulder.

"Well, yer practically family now." Atsumu shrugs. "And neither I, nor Nene, would want to lose you too."

"You're gonna make me cry with those touching words." Suna comments with a laugh, although he's not really lying either. 

Atsumu gives him a firm nod, his eyes snapping to look at the doors when they fling open, loud footsteps taking away the calm in the room. Two Peacekeepers come in to drag Atsumu out, while the man manages to yell out a "I believe in you both!" before the doors close with a loud slam.

Leaving the room to lapse into silence again.

|———|

"Why'd ya do it?"

Suna visibly tenses, his eyes looking everywhere but Osamu's face, knowing he'd meet a disapproving pair of gray eyes he's grown to remember since the first day he saw them. He sighs, putting down the half-eaten biscuit on his plate when he feels his stomach churn in discomfort after taking a bite.

Suna lowers his eyes, "...Do what?"

He receives a scoff in return, "Don't play dumb now, Rin."

Suna grimaces. Osamu is right, he can't play dumb now, after everything he's done.

"...Because," he murmurs, finally finding the courage to look into Osamu's eyes, olive clashing with gray hues, all traces of fear gone.

"I'd rather you die in my arms than on a projected screen."

His friend's eyes widens with disbelief, looking almost like a kicked puppy.

Osamu's shoulders slump, before shaking as he huffs out a laugh, earning a smile in return from his best friend. Osamu's laughter trails off, ending with a sniffle as he turned away, "...What a stupid reason."

"Whatever you say," Suna smiles weakly.

"I'm not going to die," Osamu pauses, a hand coming up to toy with the pin on his shirt. "I made a promise... and I plan to keep it."

Suna keeps quiet. "I know you did, and I know you will."

They look at the metal door when it slides open, revealing their escort, whose name they found out was Alisa. She strides in with a big grin, heels clicking on the ground, "So, boys! How are you faring?"

Osamu frowns, rubbing his neck while Suna stifles a laugh at the sight of her outfit, different from the one during the Reaping but still the same style, bright and flashy. He sighs, "As well as we can, I guess."

"Well, that's better than nothing," she smiles warmly. "Anyways, why don't you continue helping yourself to the food? I'll go call your mentor."

And with that, she leaves the room, leaving the two by themselves yet again.

Suna steals a glimpse at Osamu, who seems to be staring blankly at the snacks laid out in front of him like a buffet, quite unusual since he always loved to eat. He looks down at his plate, staring at his half-eaten biscuit which he couldn't bring himself to finish because he fears he wouldn't be able to stomach it after having eaten birds and squirrels for a living. Maybe Osamu feels the same thing.

"Kita-san..." Osamu breathes out. "...is our mentor, right?"

Suna presses his lips into a thin line, "Our _only_ mentor, actually. He's the last surviving victor of our district."

"All the other ones passed away, right?" Osamu murmurs, his hand still fiddling with his pin.

The lapse into silence as old memories still to fill up their minds, memories of their youth spent with the same man who managed to survive a week in the arena and emerge as the victor of the 64th Hunger Games at the young age of 16, even after getting slashed in the abdomen.

"It's been a while since I last saw him."

"Yeah," Suna nods, running a hand through his hair. "Me too."

The door opens a second time, and their eyes immediately move to look at the man who enters their line of sight, both meeting his dulled, brown eyes, having lost their glow since their childhood. A given after witnessing all the horrors of what the games had in store for him after winning one of them.

Osamu stands up slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat, "Kita-san."

He looks worse for wear, if Osamu has to be honest. His hair is unkempt, a few strands sticking out here and there. He had eyes lined with dark bags like he hasn't slept for years and skin as pale as a sheet of paper. His clothes are the only things neat, courtesy of Alisa, perhaps.

Kita's lips turn up a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Osamu-kun," his gaze move to Suna, nodding. "Suna-kun."

He walks forward, making his way over to the beverage stand where he pours himself a glass of what the younger two could only assume to be some kind of fancy drink or alcohol. Their mentor downs it without a second thought, then places the glass on the surface of the table as he lets out a sigh.

The awkward tension stretches, but the silence breaks as Kita refills his glass once more, drumming his fingers on the table. Both Osamu and Suna watch him gulp down the alcoholic beverage like water in one go. 

Kita Shinsuke is a rational person, according to Osamu's personal knowledge and experience. He used to act as a pillar for them many years ago, even though he himself had still been a young child. Osamu remembers weeping for nearly a whole day when Kita had been Reaped a decade ago. 

He certainly looks older, his features more defined and mature, but from his appearance alone Osamu can guess that he hasn't been taking good care of himself. It's been ten years since Kita won the Hunger Games and moved to Victor's Village, but Osamu almost doesn't recognise the man standing before him as he used to. 

"How have you been?" Kita asks all of a sudden. The older man sets his glass down, turning around to collapse on the couch opposite of Suna and Osamu.

Osamu holds back a grimace, fidgeting in his seat. "We could be better." he replies.

"Right, right. You're tributes and all." Kita murmurs, grabbing a biscuit from a plate of snacks on the table. "The food here is good."

"This is Kita Shinsuke, and he'll be your mentor." Alisa beams. Osamu hadn't even realised she returned. Their escort smiles again, "Though I see you're already acquainted with each other."

"We were close when we were younger." Kita explains, chewing on a macaron. "Before I won the Games."

"Wonderful. This will be easier, then? Considering your mentor is someone you're familiar with." Alisa says. "Feel free to ask him any questions." 

"Hold on." Kita interrupts, rising from the couch to pour another glass of alcohol. He checks the other beverages, glasses clattering as he moves things around the beverage table. Turning back around with the drink in one hand, he returns to his seat, crossing a leg over the other.

Suna clears his throat, "Okay, so—"

"So fast with the questions, Suna-kun." Kita laughs dryly, taking a sip of his drink. He looks out the window of the moving train, a faraway expression on his face. He frowns, "Most of you tributes aren't in such a hurry. They'd still be crying their hearts out to me at this time."

"Well, you are our mentor." Suna coughs behind his fist. "Don't you have any important advice you'd want to tell us?" 

Osamu leans forward, just as curious to know. 

Kita's lips press into a thin line, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, not much." he lifts his drink. "Try not to die, I suppose." 

"... That's it?" 

"You'd die in any second while out in the arena." Kita says, leaning back. "Just embrace the probability of your imminent death." 

"Kita-san, you won the Games before, surely you have more to tell us than what we already know—" 

Their mentor throws his head backwards, having taken an interest in the light reflecting off his shot glass. Therefore, Suna's words fall on deaf ears. 

"I'm sorry to say that when you die, the Capitol won't remember you, your name or your effort." Kita drawls, sipping his drink. 

"That's all you're going to tell us?" Suna asks, utterly bewildered. "We haven't seen you in ten years, and this is the only advice you can give us when we're about to risk our lives out there? What _happened_ to you?"

Seemingly unaffected by Suna's outburst, Kita purses his lips. He then shrugs his shoulders, "People change." is all he says, looking lost in his thoughts. 

"Unbelievable." Osamu looks to his side, watching Suna stand up, storming out of the room all the while muttering inaudible words under his breath. 

"What— Rin, where are ya going?"

"I need to think." is the brief answer he receives, and Osamu is slightly taken aback by how cold his tone is. "I'm going to my room."

The door slides close. Osamu doesn't go after him. 

"Oh dear." Alisa says worriedly, "Will he be alright?"

"I'm sure he will." Osamu replies, but his unconvinced tone and the fact that he can't look away from the door Suna had just walked through betrays his words.

That night, Osamu discovers how comfortable and soft luxury mattresses can be. The room is huge, and the interior design looks expensive, along with a nice bathroom. It's unlike anything he's grown up using back at District 12. For a second he almost envies how citizens at the Capitol get to enjoy this comfort every single day.

He's always thought it unfair, that children in the Capitol born the same as kids from the districts get to grow up happily in a life of luxury without a care in the world, while everyone in the twelve districts work from the crack of dawn just to get something to eat, and every kid starts fearing for their lives the moment they turn 12 years old.

But there's nothing he can do about it. Reality cruelly reminds him that when he watches two men from the Capitol on the wide television screen discuss about the previous Hunger Games as if it were nothing but a little, harmless game. Like there weren't actual kids who killed each other and died in the arena just for the sake of not getting punished by the Capitol. They saw it as mere _entertainment_.

 _"That year was one of my favourites. It was very bloody, exciting, and the arena was creative. I loved it. I'm looking forward to the surprises this year's Games will offer."_ the man on the television says, a large grin displayed on his face. On the screen behind him is a replay of the Games several years ago, where a boy is bleeding to his death after getting stabbed by someone. Osamu immediately turns the television off, feeling sick in the gut.

Him and Suna are going to enter that arena very soon. 

Despite how comfortable the bed he's offered is, Osamu is wide awake. He can't fall asleep. Not in this unfamiliar room, where he feels anything but safe. 

Osamu exits the bedroom, leaving his compartment to explore the train. He finds himself entering the last bar car, the big window at the back giving him a perfect view of the the railway and multiple trees planted on the two sides of the train track. 

His feet quietly pad across on the floor as he approaches the window, moving to sit down on the couch. Fiddling with his pin— he's convinced it's become a nervous habit now— his eyes stare up at the dark night sky with millions of glimmering specks scattered across it like rice grains.

He brings his pin up, letting the moonlight illuminate it dimly. He stares at it unblinkingly as it he turns it over in his hand, inspecting it closely, even if the light is a little too dim.

" _To protect ya._ "

" _Try to win, will you? Then come back home._ "

_I miss ya both already._

He clutches it, clenching his jaw when he feels his eyes begin to sting.

"Can't sleep?"

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes meeting Suna's lazy gaze when he turns around. "Ya nearly gave me a heart attack," he hisses.

Suna merely lets out a quiet chuckle, though Osamu could clearly see no amusement in his eyes. He walks forward and sits down next to Osamu on the couch, leaving a fairly small gap between them, their knees almost touching.

"...Yeah," Osamu mutters, answering Suna's question.

A wry smile creeps up Suna's lips as his eyes move to stare out the window. "What are luxury mattresses for when they can't even help you sleep?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, "Ya can say that again."

A blanket of silence covers them when Osamu's laughter trails off, not tense, but comfortable because the unspoken words between them didn't need to be said for them to understand each other.

Osamu finds his eyes becoming glued to Suna's side-profile, slowly tracing up the features of his face lit up by the moon, unconsciously searing them deeper into his memory as he takes in the way Suna's features look more attractive with the moonlight shining onto him. From his slightly parted lips, to the slope of his nose.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he jumps, heart nearly leaping out of his throat when Suna's eyes snapped to meet his.

Suna throws his head back with a laugh, clutching his stomach as Osamu splutters, his cheeks beginning to turn red with embarrassment.

"Oh my god, I can't believe I just caught you checking me out!"

"Wh— _no_! I wasn't checking ya out!"

" _Sure_ you weren't."

Osamu rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest, "I was _just—_ ugh, forget it."

Suna's laugh tones down into a quiet chuckle in his throat, his eyes crinkling at the side as he stares at Osamu's flustered face with a fond gaze. He sighs, "Alright, alright. You weren't checking me out."

Osamu finally looks at him, and Suna notices the painfully obvious pout on his lips that makes him want to coo, but the look in Osamu's narrowed eyes just screams, _try it, I dare you_.

"Oh no, look who's pouting." he brings his hands up to hold Osamu's face, cracking up again when Osamu's nose scrunches up, looking as if he ate an unripe apple. He squishes his cheeks together, cooing. "I guess old habits die hard, huh?"

Osamu's eye twitches with obvious anger, but Suna doesn't stop there. Instead, he carries on, hands pinching Osamu's cheeks, "Uh oh, looks like I've only made you poutier. I'm sorry, 'Samu. Did I make you angr—" 

"I'm _not_ pouting!" the black-haired boy snaps, grabbing Suna's hands and trying to shove him back, but Suna's fingers grab hold of the front of his shirt, tugging him along too. The two of them yelp when they roll off the couch, falling onto the ground with a thud.

"Nice going, dumbass," Suna groans, arm clutching his side which absorbed all the impact.

Osamu growls, head pressed against the floor, "Yer the one who started it, asshole."

He turns his head, eyes meeting Suna's with a glare. His friend returns the glower, but when the corners of his lips twitched and soft laughter bubbles out of his mouth, Osamu couldn't help but join in as well, both of them beginning to laugh on the ground as if they had gone mad.

Suna lets out a contented sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "Well, that helped."

"What? Teasing me and falling off the couch?" Osamu says sarcastically, hands resting on his chest.

"What else?"

"Yer weird."

"You know you love me."

Osamu lets out an amused huff, flipping onto his back, "Whatever."

Suna rolls onto his side again, Osamu moving to look at him upon hearing the shuffling. He meets Suna's calm gaze, swallowing at the way his olive hues made his stomach do a flip.

Suna brings a hand up, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, his knuckle brushing against the skin of his cheek and sending shivers down his spine.

His hand lingers, his eyes flickering down somewhere momentarily and Osamu becomes aware of the sudden lack of distance between them when he felt Suna's breath brushing against his lips.

Suna's eyes watch him like a hawk in the shadows, noticing the way Osamu's eyes widen ever so slight as he nervously gulps, gray hues trained on the almost nonexistent gap between then.

His friend frowns, something flashing in his eyes, before he sighed and pulled his hand away.

Osamu's eyes snap back up, watching as Suna sat up, shoulders sagged. "It's about time we slept," he said quietly. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Y-Yeah," Osamu mutters. "We should." 

Suna offers him a hand, which Osamu took. He hoists him up onto his feet with ease, their hands breaking off when Suna turned away.

The two of them exit the back room, quietly making their way through the corridor and to their respective rooms, no words exchanged in favor of not waking up anyone.

Osamu watches as Suna brings a hand up, about to open his door when, "Hey, Rin?"

He looks at him, olive eyes peering questioningly into his as his hand hovered over the button.

Osamu offers him a timid smile, "Goodnight."

"... Goodnight, 'Samu," Suna smiles, then proceeded to open his door and disappear into his room. Osamu's eyes linger on his door for a few seconds, before he too, retreats back into his room.

Breakfast the next morning is rather eventful, to say the least. 

"You're going to get drunk, Kita-san. It's way too early for that." Suna says firmly, getting out of his seat to reach for Kita's drink. "I think that's enough for you." 

Kita moves his arm away before Suna could snatch his glass out of his grasp. "Fine." he sighs, putting the drink aside. "You wanted me to give you real advice, right?" 

"That would be very much appreciated." Suna responds, sinking back into his own chair with his arms folded. 

"We intend to go home alive." Osamu adds. "This whole time we've been on the train you've been looking at us like you're already planning our funerals." he comments in disbelief. 

Kita looks up, hazel eyes narrowing. "Let me get one thing straight," he clasps his hands together, leaning back into his seat as his gaze burns into Osamu's.

"I'll give you advice, but I won't give you hope." their mentor says lowly. "Because I've seen so many of you have hope, but it brought them to nowhere but their permanent demises."

Osamu stiffens at Kita's stern tone. He refrains from running his mouth some more, feeling as if he's reverted back to his child self who would fear getting scolded by Kita more than anything else.

Alisa shuffles forward to pat Kita's shoulder. "Don't you think you're being a bit harsh?" she asks. "You've frightened the poor boys." 

"I'm simply being realistic." Kita answers. "Do you really want to know how to survive out there in the arena?" 

He swallows the last of his drink, slamming the glass onto the table. Alisa flinches at the loud sound, sending Kita a dirty look, one he blatantly ignores.

"You get people to like you." Kita says, brown eyes staring Osamu and Suna down. Osamu feels as if they're seven years old all over again, getting lectured by him after doing something wrong. He always thought Kita as intimidating, particularly when he stares at Osamu as if he could look into his soul. 

The only difference is they're no longer children, they aren't in District 12 anymore, and the problem isn't something trivial like Osamu and Atsumu quarreling again or Suna and Osamu secretly sneaking off into the forest. Him and Suna are now tributes, Kita is their mentor, they're on the train to the Capitol, about to attend a tournament of life and death. 

"When you're starving or freezing out there, even a blanket or some matches can save your life." Kita explains, crossing his arms. "And where do you get those supplies? From sponsors. Therefore, people will have to take an interest in you to help you during the Games." 

"He's right." Alisa hums in agreement. "You should listen to Kita's advice carefully. He's your mentor, and your old friend— I'm assuming, so his words matter a lot." 

"Try to eat, yeah?" she continues, staring at Osamu and Suna's plates of untouched food. "You'll need the energy." 

"There it is." Suna gasps, getting out of his seat to get close to the window. He presses his hands against the glass, spotting the large dam and multiple buildings he'd never seen before in their district. "It's massive." 

Alisa tilts her head, "Stunning, isn't it?" she says fondly. "We'll arrive at the Capitol soon." 

Osamu gets up, joining Suna by his side to peer out the window of the train. The sight truly is one to behold, and the Capitol is definitely as huge and lavish as the stories make it out to be. A grand and beautiful city, occupied by only the wealthy and powerful. 

It's a stark contrast to the dirty, much smaller wooden houses, coal mines and forests Osamu has grown used to. 

The train passes through a tunnel, and loud cheering noises in the distance startles Osamu. He gets closer to get a better look, eyes widening when a crowd filled with people dressed in colorful makeup, outfits and hairdos appear within his line of view, large smiles on each of their faces as they cheer in excitement at their arrival. 

"Wow." Suna whispers in awe, waving a hand to the crowd. To his surprise, the crowd cheers wildly to his response. 

Osamu doesn't do anything. He tries to smile, but the deafening screams and cheers of the crowd fuels a sort of anxiety in him. He backs away from the window, watching Suna force a smile and continue his waving just to please and satisfy the people who've come to see them at the train station. 

Unsurprisingly, Kita picks up his distress like he always does. "Get used to it." he simply advises, "Your private life is over the moment you enter the Capitol as a tribute, Osamu-kun." 

_Right_. They've arrived at the Capitol, the district they used to call home where all their families and friends reside currently far, _far_ away.

The train slows to a stop, and the cheers get louder and louder. 

Reality is quick to remind Osamu that their journey is just beginning. The 74th Hunger Games is near, and he doesn't have time to be afraid. Besides, he has a promise to keep, and fully intends to return home with Suna together, _alive_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have no idea where we're going from this, but get ready for one hell of a ride


	2. Chapter 2

"We've got our new batch of tributes this year already." a lanky man with grey hair and catlike green eyes says, dressed in a neatly tailored blue suit. He glances over at the Head Gamemaker sitting besides him, chuckling as they review the footage from the Reapings of each district. "Time flies fast, eh?"

"I agree." the other man hums, "Once again, the time of the year for the Hunger Games has come. I've seen many people excited for this upcoming big event."

"You're Head Gamemaker after all, Hasegawa-san. Many of us, including I, are anticipating what sort of excitements you'd add to this year's Games."

"You flatter me, Lev-kun." Hasegawa laughs, leaning his elbow on the table. "I don't contribute much to the fun and excitement of each year's Games. That's the tributes' parts to play, after all."

"Although," he adds. "I think this year is going to be rather different. Whenever there's a volunteer from one of the outlying districts, it truly makes the mix far more interesting."

Lev raises a brow, “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

“Just call it... intuition.” 

"I see," Lev says, turning to the front to face the camera filming him. "Speaking of them, we'll be meeting this year's beloved tributes just tonight at the grand Tribute's Parade." 

He grins, "I'm sure everyone in the Capitol is looking forward to it." 

"Cut!" someone yells from the back, and the cameras stop rolling. 

|———|

Osamu is barely able to hold back the wince that inevitably leaves his lips when a piece of wax strip on his leg gets harshly ripped off. 

Upon arriving at the Capitol, he and the other tributes had been led to different rooms and instructed to lay on spa beds. He had been stripped off his old clothing, and before he knew it multiple workers crowded around him, holding shower hoses to wash his body. 

"They want you to look clean and pretty for the parade tonight." Kita had explained earlier, shrugging as he waved them off with a knowing smile. 

Osamu honestly doesn't see the need for this entire cleaning and waxing process, nor does he like the way these strangers are touching his body, but he isn't in a position to protest anyway. 

It's essential to look good and eye-catching to attract sponsors tonight. He's already sporting a headache thinking of the parade and the thousands of eyes that'd be watching them. 

Another wax strip gets ripped off his thigh. Osamu flinches, sending a death stare to the woman inflicting this pain on him, who's painfully oblivious to his reaction, smiling as she continues her work.

"Don't touch my armpits!" one of the tributes across the room shrieks. Osamu sighs.

"What are ya doing now?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at the workers now that they're done waxing him. A man with golden eyelash extensions glances over, "We're almost done— Later, we're taking you to meet Aran, your stylist."

Osamu lays his head back on the table, He feels himself shivering, the freezing cold water they hosed him down with earlier left lingering goosebumps on his skin, and the metal table itself isn’t very comfortable, to say the least.

They wheel him out, and he catches a glimpse of another tribute who is thrashing around on the table, trying in vain to get away from the wax strip heading towards his leg. Osamu respectfully averts his eyes from the sight, struggling to bite back laughter when a high-pitched scream leaves the tribute's mouth.

He's led to an empty room, and before he could ask anything, the workers leave in a hurry without a single word to spare. Osamu huffs, body laying pliant on the table as he stares up at the ceiling. He blinks, wondering about the whereabouts of Suna. It feels a little lonely, being by himself. It's been a while since he was truly alone, he almost forgot how it felt.

But now that he's in an unfamiliar place, several miles away from his safe place— his _home_ , the feeling of loneliness is accompanied by fear. He could only hope neither will linger.

The door abruptly clicks open, followed by heavy footsteps entering the room. Osamu's eyes widen, sitting up to face the unfamiliar man standing a few feet away from him. 

"What you did was very brave out there." the man says, stepping closer. He extends a hand at Osamu, giving him a friendly smile. "Ojiro Aran. A pleasure to meet you." 

Osamu accepts it, shaking his hand. "Miya Osamu," he introduces himself easily. "And what ya said earlier—" 

"I was talking about the Reaping." Aran interrupts. "I saw how you volunteered for your brother to take his place in the Games. It was a very brave act." he says lowly, "I'm sorry this happened to you." 

Osamu swallows down a lump in his throat, tearing his gaze away from Aran to look at the ground. "Yer the first to say that," he comments, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Most of the people here jus' congratulate me." 

Aran shrugs his shoulders. "I don't see the point in that." he looks into Osamu's eyes, lips twisted into a small frown. "You're strong, Osamu. You have my respect." 

Osamu feels a laugh bubbling up in his chest. "That's a first too. Yer a weird one, aren't ya?" 

"I get that a lot." Aran returns the smile, laughing as well. "Now, shall we get onto business?" 

"Right. The parade." Osamu nods, clenching his fists as he sighs. His heart drops whenever reminded of the awful parade he'd have to be a part of soon. "Yer my stylist, right? Work yer magic, I guess." 

"Well, first of all, I'd like to brief you on a few things for the Tribute's Parade." Aran says, "Did they already fill you in about the collecting sponsors part?" 

Osamu nods. Aran hums, one hand reaching out to untangle the knot in his messy hair. He flinches at the sudden contact, but otherwise does not back away. Oddly, Aran's touch doesn't feel unwelcoming. It's a nice change, given that all Osamu had felt is discomfort around the other Capitol workers. 

"The whole point is to look good and attract attention from potential sponsors so that they'd help you while you're in the arena. Most stylists dress their tributes up according to what their districts are." Aran explains. 

Osamu wrinkles his nose. "Yer gonna dress me up in coal then?" 

"Nope." Aran denies. There's a somewhat proud look spread across his face. "I'm not going with that tradition. I like to be a bit different and experimental with the costumes I make— if you don't mind." 

"I like different." Osamu grins. Mostly, he's relieved that he isn't dressing up as a coal miner in front of the Capitol and all the districts, plus Aran seems like a trustworthy, talented guy. "Go ahead, mister stylist." 

Several long hours later, Osamu lives to regret his words. 

In the bustling crowd of frantic stylists and nervous tributes dressed in colorfully designed costumes stands a certain Miya Osamu, who is, unfortunately, _fearing for his life_ at his moment, despite it being days earlier than the beginning of the Hunger Games.

"When ya said experimental, I didn't think this is what ya meant." Osamu hisses as he attempts reasoning with his infuriatingly calm stylist. 

"Trust me." Aran says patiently, smiling at both him and Suna. They're already in their outfits for the parade, and Osamu is itching all over. The clothing material on him is probably worth more than him and his life. "It won't catch fire, I promise. It's not real fire anyway." 

Suna looks a bit unconvinced. "Is the makeup necessary though? I can't even touch my own face without feeling I'd ruin everything." 

"Let the one hour of sitting on a chair getting your makeup done be worth it," Aran says, clapping his hands proudly at the outcome as he examines their outfits one last time. 

"Remember, chin up, face the audience proudly, and stand _straight_." Aran adds, purposely narrowing his eyes at Suna. "I'm looking particularly at you. We've got to fix your posture someday, Suna." 

Suna makes an offended face. "Excuse me?" 

Their stylist ignores him, patting the two of them on the side of their shoulders before gently pushing them away. "C'mon, boys. It's time to get out there!" he beams, smiling brightly.

Osamu gulps. "Yay," he mutters under his breath. 

|———|

There isn't a single vacant seat in sight amongst the large crowd of the Capitol's citizens who arrived to watch this year's Tribute Parade in person. They chatter excitedly, sitting on the edges of their seats as they anticipate the entrance of this year's tributes, having caught glimpses of them when they first arrived in the Capitol.

Somewhere in the chattering crowd, Kita is barely able to conceal his anxiety in his seat, nonstop tapping his foot on the ground as he glances around back and forth. The entrance for the chariots is still empty, but the parade is definitely starting soon.

His fingers dig into his forearm, his eyes snapping to look at the balcony overlooking the crowd. He knows, somewhere up there, that the Capitol's president is present, sitting in his chair with his servants and officials awaiting the Tribute Parade to start. The reminder only causes Kita's anxiety to increase. 

_Calm yourself, Shinsuke_. He lets out a sigh, forcing himself to relax. _If everything goes as planned, nothing will happen_.

"Over thousands of people have come to watch the Tribute Parade live tonight! It's amazing!" Lev announces, smiling widely at the camera. "We're finally going to see the faces of all twenty-four of our tributes in their costumes. All sponsors, get ready!" 

The horses pulling the chariots start moving out into the open, starting with the first district to the last.

Kita purses his lips. He could only hope the outfits Aran designed would catch the eyes of some sponsors who would be willing to aid them in the arena.

Osamu keeps quiet, gray eyes peering out into the open where he could hear the Capitols' excited cheering, countless voices booming in the air. It sends a shiver down his spine, the thought of having so many eyes on him, he'd never liked that. Atsumu had always been the one to garner attention, he'd just be watching on the sidelines. But now, it isn't Atsumu who's going to get all the attention, it's _him_.

"'Samu." Suna's voice makes him look up, meeting his concerned gaze. He frowns, stepping closer. "You alright? You're looking a little pale."

"Y-Yeah, yeah—" Osamu pauses, taking a breath to steady himself. "I-I'm fine."

Suna stares at him, skeptical. Osamu knows he's unconvinced, he could just see it in his eyes. Why'd he even try? Suna is definitely not dumb enough to buy the broken sentence of his that he called a lie.

Suna reaches out, weaving their fingers together, and gives his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Osamu's mind blanks out for a second, his eyes staring down at their intertwined fingers. Suna's hand feels... warm, very warm, despite being rough and calloused from years and years of work.

Instantly, he could feel himself relax, finding comfort in the warmth of his friend's palm.

"You'll do fine," Suna smiles, a fond gaze in his eyes. "Trust me."

Osamu stares at his grin for a moment, at a loss for words. For a moment, it feels as if it's only him and Suna in this room with his firm grip being the only thing keeping him grounded to reality. Despite the fact no words are exchanged, Osamu understands full well what Suna has to say to him, just with his eyes alone.

 _I'm here, you're not alone_.

Osamu's face relaxes into a smile, returning the squeeze.

"I already do."

"Amazing costumes. The stylists this year outdid themselves, didn't they?" Lev says, exchanging a chuckle with the man beside him as they observe each district's chariots. "There's District 4— fish scales, oh, fishing, is it?" 

"Very unique." the other man comments, leaning closer to get a better glimpse. The smile on his face slips for a moment, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline as the crowd's cheering gets much louder than before. "What's that in the back?" 

"Hm?" Lev emits a confused noise, squinting his eyes. "That's District 12, isn't it? Their outfits—" 

With Aran's instructions lingering in the back of his head, Osamu constantly reminds himself to look up and face the audience despite how fast his heart is beating with panic. His eyebrows knit together when the crowd screams, clapping their hands while pointing their fingers at them enthusiastically. 

Aran, with the mindset of wanting to make them leave an impression, had forgone the tradition of District 12's coal costumes and dressed them both in traditional Japanese clothing, paired with a simple black haori with red eyeshadow makeup instead of dirt and coal on their faces, while secured around the side of their faces with red silk are fox-shaped masks. 

Their stylist had mentioned that by leaving an even bigger impression on the audience, he decided to add fake fire to the mix. 

The back of their haori begin to catch fire, yet Osamu feels nothing but a comforting warmth behind him. Beautiful designs of a shrine, a fox and the scenery of the moon display on their outfits, accompanied by the effect of realistic-looking burning fire and particles of embers.

Following that, the fire begins to twist and take shape, splitting into the nine tails of a kitsune, gracefully swishing around behind them. Two ears sit on top of Osamu's head, animatedly moving as if they are truly alive.

Osamu flinches at the loud screams and gasps all around him, taken aback when the crowd only gets rowdier. Suna glances at him from the corner of his eye, squeezing their still entwined fingers. 

"You okay?" he whispers, quickly casting him a worried look. 

"I'm fine." Osamu's breath starts to even out. He manages a reassuring smile, "Thanks." 

Suna smiles back, then looks away to face the front, exhaling a deep breath.

Osamu glances down at their hands, before lifting them up, showing it to the audience. Their weaved hands come up on the screens, taking away all the attention from the other tributes as the cheers get louder, the crowd beginning to throw roses, hats and gifts at them now.

"It looks like the parade just got more interesting, folks! Feast your eyes on the tributes of District 12!" Lev grins, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Such interesting clothes, a stark contrast from last year's outfits, alright. I think I quite like it!"

"And— _oh?_ Are they holding hands?" his co-host leans in to get a closer look, jumping back in surprise when they raise their hands into the air. "They are!"  
  
"What a powerful sight, I love it!" Lev exclaims enthusiastically. "Two young people, holding their hands up as if to say, _District 12 or not, we won't be overlooked!"_

The chariots stop. Osamu looks up, noticing that the audience's cheering has steadily calmed down, before fading into silence. Above the bleachers, standing on the podium is a man with greying hair, dressed in a dark red suit with a single, white rose clipped to his coat, smiling down at the tributes.

Although the distance is too far away for Osamu to conclude anything, he has an inkling the smile isn't exactly genuine. There's undoubtedly an edge of sharpness to it, which makes his stomach churn.

Not to mention that gaze of his. Osamu tenses, the hairs on his neck standing when the president's eyes swoop over him, but for a moment, he could've sworn they halted for a split second, staring back into his eyes with that cold, haunting gaze.

Osamu lets out a breath he didn't know he's been holding when the man finally looks away. He already knows the president is an intimidating man, but seeing him in person— despite the distance— still gives him the same feeling of dread he gets whenever he sees him on screen.

"Tributes," the man says, his voice loud and booming for everyone present to hear. "We welcome you to the Capitol."

"We salute your courage and your sacrifice," Osamu swallows the urge to scoff, flinching when the crowd starts to cheer again, clapping and whooping merrily to his words. His voice continues to echo, "And we wish you, Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." 

The crowd's cheering intensifies at his words, becoming more restless, but the tributes stay silent and unmoving. The horses start moving, carrying the chariots away before they're all out of sight, and the parade comes to an end.

Aran and their prep team immediately come up to them the moment they step off their chariot. He beams at them, "That was amazing!"

"Oh, we are all anybody's going to talk about!" Alisa exclaims, bouncing on her feet, painted lips forming a happy smile. 

"Yay, I guess..." Osamu mumbles, looking up at Kita when he joins the group. His mentor glances between him and Suna, giving them a minuscule smile, "You two made quite the impression, good job."

Suna crosses his arms, smirking, "Are you sure you should be near an open flame?"

Kita stares, unfazed, "You mean a _fake_ flame."

Suna flinches at that, smiling nervously as he's reminded of the times he used to try and poke fun at the older man, only to receive a bone-chilling, blunt stare directed at him, always leaving him speechless and scared. It seems as though that's the only thing about Kita that hasn't changed.

Kita's eyes shift, looking at someplace, or _someone_ , behind them. His gaze morphs into something of alarm, hazel eyes widening imperceptibly.

Osamu stiffens, feeling someone's gaze burn into the back of his head. He quickly whirls around, locking eyes with one of the tributes from District 1. He vaguely remembers Kita telling him his name is Terushima Yuuji. The man's eyes bore into his intimidatingly, making a shudder go down Osamu's spine.

"Let's... go upstairs," Kita's voice makes him break the eye contact, turning around just in time to see his mentor beckoning for everyone to follow him.

Suna's arm hovers over his waist, offering him a small smile, "Let's go."

"Okay." Osamu murmurs, still trying to shake off the feeling he received from being stared down by the tribute.

He frowns, beginning to walk alongside Suna as they tail after their mentor, heading over to the elevators. He piles in with the other, catching a brief glimpse of almond eyes when he looks up.

Terushima stares at him unblinkingly just like earlier, Osamu wonders if he ever looked away.

It's as if he is the prey— 

The doors close, Osamu lets out a shaky breath.

—and Terushima is the _predator_.

|———|

"So, each of the districts gets their own floor— and because you're from 12, you get the penthouse!" Alisa smiles merrily, leading them out of the elevator and into a large common room decorated with various interior decorations, ranging from beautiful to plain out weird.

Osamu's eyes roam around the room, wide with awe. This place is larger than his entire house alone. He wonders just how much more the Capitol can surprise him.

"This is the living room," she explains, grinning at them as they take in the place, unable to conceal their wonder. "I know, I _know_."

She turns, gesturing in a direction, "Now, your rooms are over there. Why don't you go clean yourselves up a little before dinner?"

"Sounds fine to me, I can't wait to get out of this," Suna huffs, lifting his hands up to show the layers of clothes he has on. "Feels like Aran-san just added more layers of skin on me."

"Then, we'll see you at the dining table in thirty. Chop, chop!" Alisa claps her hands, her heels clicking as she walks away from them.

Kita, too, separates from them, heading to who knows where when he disappears behind a corner, leaving the two with the servants in the room.

"So," Suna turns to look at Osamu, raising a brow. "I'll see you in thirty like Alisa said?"

He smiles, "Yeah."

His friend gives him a last smile, golden eyes crinkling before he strides off to his own room, seemingly baffled by the amount of Avox servants present in the luxurious penthouse.

Osamu casts a glance at the servants who ignore his presence, standing completely still. He thinks he hasn't seen any of them even blink at all since they arrived. He wants to say something, frowning when he's reminded of Alisa's clear instructions to refrain from interacting with them. 

With a sigh, he stomps off to his room. A nice shower in one of the many bathrooms in the penthouse would suffice, and hopefully, help with his incoming headache. It's been a long day, and as beautiful and impressive as Aran's costumes are, it's sweaty and itches like hell. 

After changing into a new pair of clothes and taking a quick bath, Osamu checks out his bedroom. It's huge and the designs are as luxurious as everything else in this penthouse, unsurprisingly. Even so, Osamu's chest feels empty because despite how nice the room looks, it feels cold. 

He sits down on the bed, patting the soft mattress, similar to the ones Osamu slept on the train. He grabs the remote from the bedside table, clicks on a few buttons, and the glass window before him that once displayed a clear view of the Capitol's night sky changes into a typical sight of its citizens walking back and forth on the streets, smiling and minding their own business.

Eyebrows knitting together, Osamu clicks the button again, causing the screen to switch once more. He leans his elbow on his knee and rests his chin on his palm, mindlessly flipping through the projected screens that show various images of the Capitol. No matter how realistic they all look, each of them is fake. 

The screen suddenly changes to the scenery of a forest, terribly reminisce of the one back in District 12 that he and Suna would frequently sneak into beyond the electric fence. Osamu flinches and accidentally drops the remote, before he frantically picks it up again and turns the projected screen off, returning it to a normal glass window.

He stares at the remote in his grip, fighting back the urge to throw it at the window so hard it shatters, just to soothe the frustration in Osamu's heart. A shaky sigh leaving his lips, and he gently sets the device aside. It doesn't deserve to be on the receiving end of his unreasonable wrath, not when it's just doing what it was programmed to do. Not when Osamu is just feeling unnecessarily petty. 

But the tip of his tongue feels weirdly bitter, and his touch feels freezing on his own skin. 

As he turns over in the bed, curling up in a ball, a mental image of his family appears in his head. He thinks of his twin Atsumu, the most annoying existence in the world yet the same person he'd volunteered for in the Hunger Games. If time somehow rewinded itself, he'd volunteer again with no hesitation nonetheless, just to make sure Atsumu lives.

He thinks of Nene, their younger sister, and the peacemaker within their household. Both him and Atsumu were never able to say no to her. Osamu is aware that if anything ever happened to her, he and Atsumu would gladly reduce the world to ashes, just to see her happy.

He thinks of Suna and the memories of the two of them hunting together in the woods. Even though he's only a few rooms away, Osamu feels as if their times together back home are distant. Like they could never go back to being that happy again, even if they are to win the Hunger Games. 

Kita Shinsuke. If Osamu closes his eyes, perhaps he's still able to recall Kita's comforting smile, his warm touch, and the lectures he'd give them when they were still bratty young children. It's all gone now, just like how the bright light visible in teenager Kita's eyes had long faded within the gaze of the current him. 

District 12 is incredibly far away. Osamu hates how the last possible memory of the place he calls home would be the disastrous Reaping incident, Nene crying, and him and Suna boarding that awful train, forcing them to leave their district. 

He's homesick and misses his family. Osamu dozes off for a while, grey eyes opening in hope of being met with the sight of their tiny, wooden house in District 12 and hearing the laughter of his siblings, but all he sees is his stupid, cold bedroom in the penthouse, and hears nothing but eerie silence. 

Osamu stares at the ceiling, cursing his own existence for what feels like ages. Reality hits him like a rock being painfully thrown at his head, thus prompting him to reluctantly slip out of his bed. 

"You're late." Alisa points out when Osamu finally drags himself out of the room to attend dinnertime, even though he isn't the slightest bit hungry. Oddly out of character of him considering he loves eating, and Atsumu has made several jokes about him being a glutton. Those comments have only remained as harmless jokes because food is hard to find in District 12. Starvation isn't a scarce sight there. 

"Sorry," Osamu mutters, taking a seat beside Suna, who looks at him, eyebrows furrowed and concerned. All Kita does is stare at him for a while, looking deep in thought as he chews. Osamu wouldn't be surprised if Kita guessed what was on his mind. The older man has always been able to, as terrifying as it is at times. 

Osamu grabs a fork and unintentionally stabs it into his food, glaring at his plate like it'd committed a heinous felony for at least five minutes before Kita clears his throat. 

"Eat your dinner, Osamu-kun." Kita says, looking at him from across the table. Osamu fails to hold back the way his body tenses despite how much he tries to hide it. "It's unlike you to not be hungry at this hour," he adds.

Alisa laughs, "You seem to know a lot about him." she comments. 

Kita takes a sip of his drink and doesn't respond. 

"Forgive us for trying to adjust to these kinds of luxurious food," Suna snarks, eyes narrowed. "We have been living off street rats and wild squirrels, so it's not unusual for us if we can't stomach it."

Alisa makes a face at the mentioning of rats, but doesn't speak up about it. Osamu is almost thankful for that.

"At least... eat some of the things you're familiar with?" she suggests hopefully, gesturing to a dish here and there. "Like that sautéed chicken or grilled duck."

Osamu stares at the dishes blankly, unable to conjure an appetite no matter how mouthwatering the dishes in front of him look. All he feels in his stomach is just a ball of nerves, and that just makes him even more repulsed.

"Alisa, they'll eat," Kita reassures the woman, cutlery clinking against his plate. He doesn't look at her when her eyes move to him, only focused on his food. "Just give them time to... adjust."

Their escort sighs. "Alright, but just get a few bites in," she frowns. "I don't want you two going to sleep with empty stomachs."

That, Osamu can do. He reaches out, picking up a fruit from the bowl placed in front of him. He'd only ever seen apples, bananas, and mangoes, but these ones are new to him. They're round, orange, and the size of a clenched fist.

"That's an orange," Alisa helpfully supplies, clearly happy he decided to eat.

He stares at it, curious. _A fruit that's named after its color_ , he muses to himself. _Weird_.

Osamu brings it closer, and takes a bite out of it, prompting a yelp to leave Alisa's painted lips when he spits it out onto his palm, nose scrunching up at the unpleasant strong and sour taste that invaded his mouth.

"No, no, no!" Alisa shrieks, looking highly amused and surprised at the same time as she hastily rushes over to him. "You weren't supposed to eat the peel nor were you supposed to bite it!"

After getting cleaned up, Osamu accepts peeled oranges served to him by an Avox, muttering a quiet thank you as he avoids looking at everyone present at the dining table.

Suna, needless to say, instantaneously bursts out laughing the moment Alisa told him the correct way to eat an orange after Osamu embarrassed himself for life in front of everyone present. Even Kita had a tinge of amusement in his eyes, despite having them fixated on his food, Osamu managed to catch it. He didn't know whether to be proud or mortified.

It's sweeter, now that the peel is gone and it's just the meat of the fruit. Osamu curses him and his idiotic mind to have just taken a bite out of it.

"How's it taste?" he looks at his friend, meeting his amused gaze. "Now that the peel is gone?"

Osamu rolls his eyes, "Better."

"Can I have one?"

He shoots him a look, hand hovering protectively over his bowl of oranges. Suna leans closer to him, playfully opening his mouth while Osamu only swats at him.

"No."

"C'mon, just one?"

"No, I like 'em."

"‘Samu, please?"

"Doing puppy eyes won't work."

"It was worth a shot."

Kita blinks, watching his two juniors continuously banter across him, Osamu shielding his oranges from Suna as the latter tries to reach for it despite the hand pushing him away, snickering.

Alisa simply chuckles. "Oh dear," she grins, looking at Kita. "It seems as though the two of them are only at ease with each other."

Kita hums, "Well, they've known each other for thirteen years now... it's only normal."

But to see that they haven't changed much even after all these years is a relief, almost endearing even. Kita could feel the sides of his lips twitch ever so slightly, a smile threatening to surface as he continued to watch them bicker.

Alisa. having caught the slight movement of his lips, smiles at him from the side.

Osamu sighs. "Fine," he scowls, but one with eyes as keen as Kita's could tell it was fake. "Ya can have one."

"I knew you had a soft spot for me," Suna's lips quirk up in a lopsided smile.

"Don't get full of yourself."

Suna ignores that remark, choosing to open his mouth instead. Osamu's eyebrows furrow in confusion, gray eyes staring at him with a bewildered look.

Suna huffs, "Isn't it obvious?"

Osamu glares at him, his eyes questioning him silently, _really?_ He lets out a sigh, long-suffering, before picking up an orange slice, begrudgingly holding it out to his friend.

Suna opens his mouth, letting out an obnoxious _aaah_ sound that seems to just irk Osamu even more, a tick appearing on his jaw as his stare hardens on Suna's face.

He clenches the orange, making juice squirt onto Suna's face. He smiles victoriously. 

Alisa gasps, while Kita sighs.

"Osamu-kun!" 

Suna gapes, processing what just happened as orange juice drips down his jaw and onto his napkin. Fortunately, it didn't get onto his shirt, otherwise, Alisa would've given them an earful.

He licks the droplet rolling down his face, grinning dangerously at his best friend, "Oh, you're _on_."

Osamu grinned, already holding more orange slices. "Bring it."

"Ahem."

Both of them immediately turn to the man in front of them, flinching when they met his stern gaze while Alisa smiled nervously.

"Osamu-kun, Suna-kun," he mutters lowly, his tone a warning. "This is a dining table, not a kindergarten."

The two boys look away from him, sweating anxiously as Kita's heavy gaze burns into them. "Right," Osamu mumbles, fiddling with his cutlery. "Sorry."

Suna looks the other way, muttering something similar to an apology, though more begrudgingly. Kita shakes his head, while Alisa, despite flabbergasted by everything that's just happened, bursts into a fit of laughter, which only fuels Suna and Osamu's embarrassment. 

"I'm sorry—" she loses herself in another fit of laughter. "I just can't help it— the way you two immediately quieted down when he spoke, it was just so cute!"

Osamu's cheeks start to redden, grip on his cutlery tightening as he found the bowl of peeled oranges much more interesting. Suna pretends the same effect isn't happening to him and instead busies him with wiping away the droplets of juice on his face with his napkin, suddenly having developed an interest in the tablecloth.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," Suna mumbles, his cheeks still tinted red. "We were always fearful of his lectures so we'd settle down the moment he spoke."

"We'd fear getting scolded by him more than the Peacekeepers," Osamu chuckles quietly, feeling nostalgic as he vividly recalls the memories of his childhood. "Especially if we stayed out too late or wandered too far from home."

"Remember when Atsumu accidentally spoilt a week's worth of flour?" Suna snickers, gesticulating with his spoon. "He tried to blame it on you but it didn't even last a minute before he told on himself."

That prompts a quiet chuckle out of Kita, everyone whipping their heads to look at him as he covers his lips with his hand, trying to hide the smile that has bloomed on his lips while everyone else was preoccupied.

Suna shares a surprised look with Osamu, before his face split into a small smile, curving his eyes ever so slightly. Osamu didn't resist the one growing on his lips.

Alisa giggles, clearly delighted at the happy faces around the dining table. "Well, I can see that both of you respect him very much."

Kita's face falls, his hazel eyes turning cold once again. He clenches his jaw, gripping the table with a white-knuckled grip, "I am a man who doesn't deserve such a thing called respect."

Osamu's throat closes, taken aback by the sudden change in Kita's tone. It feels as if someone just dumped a bucket of ice over him, the previous warmness gone in the blink of an eye. Just when he thought the person he used to look up to is back, Kita had fenced them off again. Maybe it's just him, maybe the fence was always there and Osamu was just oblivious to it.

Alisa frowns, "Kita..."

"I'm done eating," he declares, chair harshly scraping against the ground when he stood up. He turns, not sparing them another glance before briskly walking away from the dining table, his figure getting further until he leaves their sight by turning behind a corner.

Their escort only sighs, going back to eating, albeit a little sullenly.

Osamu stares in the direction his mentor went, speechless. Of all the things he expected to happen during dinnertime, this is definitely not on his list. He feels his heart grow heavy. When Kita said that, he sounded... angry, not at Alisa but.. himself.

He purses his lips, his eyes moving to look down at his plate as he wills himself to finish his food. A blanket of suffocating silence falls onto them, putting a dampen on his mood. He tries to not let it show on his face, opting to focus on the clinking of cutlery against pristine white plates.

But Kita continues to invade his mind with questions upon questions, even if Osamu already knows the answers to most of them.

"Don't worry," Alisa speaks up, as if sensing his worry. She smiles at them weakly, "Sometimes he gets like this— it's not your fault though, he just needs some space... that's all. He'll be fine. He has to be." 

Osamu blinks, and dinner is over. His eyes stare past the window, fixated on the city skyline which shines in various colors. He could see people partying blissfully on their rooftops, wearing their gaudy outfits and poisoning their livers with expensive liquor without any care in the world.

He's standing out on the balcony, the wind licking his face and pushing his hair back. Dinner ended half an hour ago, and Kita is nowhere to be found.

"Hey."

Osamu gasps, whirling around to lock eyes with Suna Rintarou. He glares at him, "Ya nearly gave me a heart attack, asshole." he hisses. "Could ya make some noise when ya walk? It's creepy."

"So demanding, 'Samu." Suna teases, striding closer to the balcony to get a closer look at the view. His hair is a disheveled mess in the face of the wind's wrath, but his expression is peaceful. "With all those mean words leaving your mouth, I'd think you actually hate me."

"I would if ya don't stop being a jerk." Osamu rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch into a small smile when Suna playfully shoves him. "Don't do that, idiot! Do ya wanna get found out and scolded by Alisa, or worse— Kita-san?" 

"I don't want to hear that from someone who's been nothing but a troublemaker since he was five." Suna mutters.

"Hi pot, meet kettle." Osamu says mockingly, gritting his teeth when Suna lets out a snort. "Yer a troublemaker too, jackass. Kita-san scolded ya just as much as he scolded 'Tsumu and I in the past."

"Yeah, yeah." Suna murmurs, nonchalantly waving a hand. His expression suddenly turns serious, leaning his elbow on the balcony as he observes the city lights, the bright colors reflecting in his golden eyes.

"Do you think Kita-san is okay, 'Samu?"

Osamu blinks several times, somehow finding the question unsurprising. He, after all, has asked himself the same thing earlier.

"Of course not." he answers. 

"Alisa said he's fine." Suna brings up, turning his head to the side to watch Osamu's expression. 

"But what if he isn't, Rin?" Osamu asks quietly, feeling a sharp, invisible force prod inside him— something like the pointy tip of an arrow driving deep into his heart. It _hurts._ "He's so... different now." 

He hears Suna heave a sigh, and then jumps when his friend wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. Osamu doesn't even attempt to protest when he catches a glimpse of the look on Suna's face.

"You and I both know he's changed, and not for the better." Suna's tone is soft and low, clearly only meant for him and Osamu to hear. The rowdy white noise coming from the bustling city below suddenly goes quiet in Osamu's ears, as if he's in both him and Suna's own world. 

And in their little world of two, all Osamu can focus on is the warmth of the arm wrapped around his shoulder, the wind in his hair and the soothing voice of his friend, which as much as Osamu wants to deny it, calms his anxiety and causes his frantic mind to go clear of worries.

It feels like hours have passed until Osamu speaks up again, low voice cutting into the comfortable silence. 

"What can we do, Rin?" 

Suna takes a long time to respond, but Osamu admittedly quite likes his answer. 

"We win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitsune [キツネ] is the literal sense of the Japanese word for 'fox'. They are believed to possess superior intelligence, long life, and magical powers. Kitsune have as many as nine tails. Generally, a greater number of tails indicates an older and more powerful kitsune.
> 
> reference for the [haori](https://m.aliexpress.com/item/33051840434.html?trace=wwwdetail2mobilesitedetail&ws_ab_test=searchweb0_0,searchweb201602_0,searchweb201603_0,ppcSwitch_0&algo_pvid=c90dffeb-7661-497b-a48b-975927f6592e&algo_expid=c90dffeb-7661-497b-a48b-975927f6592e-38)
> 
> quarantine is lasting until early next year, so if updates are slow that's entirely on us because the only excuse we have is that we procrastinated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: suna is a major flirt in this fic
> 
> osamu and atsumu both have black hair because we're assuming they don't have hair dye in their district

Osamu's morning begins with him in a training suit, standing in the training center alongside the other tributes with a woman yelling in their faces.

"In two weeks, twenty-three of you will be _dead_." 

_Way to give us more anxiety, lady._ Osamu scoffs inwardly, feeling himself sink deeper into the sour mood he woke up in this morning. 

"One of you will be alive, who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days." the woman continues, her loud voice echoing throughout the silent room. "Particularly to what I'm about to say."

"First, no fighting with the other tributes. You have plenty of time for that in the arena," she says sharply, her words earning a few snickers from several tributes. "There will be four compulsory exercises. The rest will be individual training." 

Her gaze narrows as she folds her hands behind her back. "My advice is to not ignore the survival skills. Most of you will die from natural causes anyway," she explains bluntly. "10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."

Osamu averts his eyes from the instructor lady when he catches someone staring in their direction. He looks up, and on the balcony, a man is sitting comfortably in his chair a distance away, surrounded by guards and his officials. The man leans back in his chair as he crosses one leg over the other, observing each of the tributes closely. 

Hasegawa Ryusei, the Head Gamemaker. Such a job isn't easy, especially when it's one that holds so much responsibility and grants close contact with the president himself. Anyone can recognize the very man who stirs up multiple surprises and tasks for the tributes during their time in the arena. Osamu is certainly one of them.

Seeing his face so close worsens Osamu's mood. The look on his face is unwelcoming and grim, judging by the weird looks Suna secretly gives him.

"You okay?" Suna whispers in his ear, gently nudging his side with his elbow. 

Osamu decides to be honest. "Seein' that man's face is ruinin' my morning," he mumbles, rubbing his forearm in an attempt to get rid of the goosebumps forming on his skin.

Suna follows his gaze, and realization dawns on him. He displays an expression similar to Osamu's, face twisting in disgust. "I feel the same way," he answers lowly, forcing a fake smile when the instructor glances their way. 

Training sessions are something Osamu already knows won't be easy. The second they're given permission, several tributes from the other districts immediately pick up a few weapons and start sparring with one another.

They line up to try out the obstacle course. During the monkey bars, a scrawny boy accidentally lets go of the rings and falls a good few meters onto the ground, curling up in a ball and groaning in pain. Osamu watches him struggle with his injured legs, wrinkling his nose. Strength won't be a problem for him— he's always been rather strong after years of work, but his chances of getting killed in the arena are still just as high.

An enraged shout across the room grasps Osamu's attention. He snaps his head over to the commotion, where Terushima is starting a fight with a boy from another district.

Terushima grips the front of his shirt, a nasty glare on his face. He towers over the poor boy, snarling. "Where's my knife? You took it, didn't you?"

The boy shakes his head frantically, eyes wide with disbelief. "I didn't touch your stupid knife, you weirdo—"

"Shut up!" Terushima growls, raising a clenched fist as if he's going to punch him in the face. "You took my knife, you fucking son of a bitch!"

The noises get louder, and a few Peacekeepers arrive to split them up, pulling Terushima back by grabbing his arms even as the boy ignores them in favour of continuing to scowl and swear at the other boy. 

Osamu looks away, bored and unbothered, seeing that it's none of his business. He turns around, preparing to go back to training when he sees another tribute with glasses not too far away from him laughing behind his palm, grinning up at the ceiling as he does a thumbs up to someone. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Osamu's eyes widen. Crawling on the ropes course high up in the air, unnoticed by the majority of the others is a girl who looks like she's not much older than Nene, gripping Terushima's knife in one hand. She looks down at the tribute grinning at her— most likely from her district— returning it with a nervous smile.

Osamu's jaw drops in awe, amazed. He looks down at the ground, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling. 

"You're dead, you little punk!" Terushima continues to obliviously screech out death threats to the boy, face flushed from anger. "When we're in the arena, I'm coming for _you_ first, fucker."

"That's enough." the instructor yells, raising her voice to overlap Terushima's and to gain everyone's attention. "Everyone, get back in line."

Terushima scowls but relents, knowing there'd be consequences if he lashes out. Osamu watches him for a moment, recalls the time he caught Terushima staring at him yesterday at the Tribute Parade, and shudders. The look in Terushima's eyes was wild, leaving something bitter within Osamu when he left, because he knows even after Kita ushered them to go upstairs, Terushima was _still_ staring.

Osamu isn't scared of Terushima Yuuji. There's no reason to, he's at least five centimeters taller than him, but he doesn't like the way Terushima stared at him that evening— as if Osamu was nothing but a piece of meat. 

There's one thing people should know about Miya Osamu— is that his instincts are _rarely_ ever wrong. He has a strong feeling that this guy will be difficult to deal with once they're thrown into the arena, but he thinks every other tribute who witnessed the occurrence earlier would think the same.

|———|

"He's a Career." Kita explains to them at lunchtime. "Know what that is?" 

"From District 1," Osamu mutters. They're famous in the Games, it's hard not to know them. After all, they play a big part in making the games more _interesting_ for the Capitol by killing off other tributes in the most gruesome ways ever, before turning on each other in the end.

"And 2," Kita adds, nodding. "They train in a special academy until they're eighteen, then they volunteer. By that point, they're already pretty lethal."

Osamu frowns, so they got to prepare beforehand. That just reduces his chance of winning even more, knowing that his opponents have been trained for this their entire lives while he's just a plain coalminer who probably wouldn't even be able to hold a candle to them. Real comforting.

Alisa chimes in when he finishes speaking. "But they don't receive any special treatment." she supplies. "In fact, they stay at the exact same penthouse as you do and I don't think they let them have dessert. And you can."

Osamu lets himself smile at that, acknowledging Alisa's efforts of trying to lighten the mood. The last thing he'd want is for lunch to turn out the same way as dinner last night.

Suna sighs. "So how good are they?" he inquires, poking at his food with his fork.

Kita mulls over his question for a brief moment, lips pursing, "Good enough to win it almost every year but—"

"Almost," Alisa interjects, sending him a sharp look.

"—they can be arrogant," Kita finishes his sentence without faltering, unbothered by their escort's interruption. He slowly averts his eyes to Osamu, "And arrogance can be a big problem."

Osamu's eyes move away from his plate, meeting Kita's blank gaze. He swallows the lump in his throat, cold sweat rolling down his neck as he continued to hold KIta's undeterred gaze.

"I assume, after all these years, you've improved in your archery skills," Kita tilts his head. "Right, Osamu-kun?"

Osamu tears his gaze away from Kita, looking back down at his plate as his stomach churns in discomfort. "I'm alright," he murmurs.

"Why are you suddenly trying to be humble, 'Samu?" Suna lets out an amused huff, grinning at Kita as Osamu shoots him a panicked look in the corner of his eyes, which he ignores. "He's better than alright, Kita-san. You should've seen how much he improved. His arrows always hit home, never have I ever seen one miss!"

Suna sends him a mischievous smile, earning a scowl from the other boy in return as Osamu glares back, eyes clearly lacking the same amusement as his. _Alright_ , Osamu smirks, narrowing his eyes at Suna. _Two can play at this game_.

He quickly turns, looking back at Kita, "Rin's stealthy."

Suna's grin falls, "What?"

"He can sneak up on birds and snatch them off branches, I've seen it," Osamu continues, unbothered by his friend's reaction. "No one can see him coming, he's almost invisible."

Kita raised his eyebrows, staring at him contemplatively, almost impressed even. "Is that so?" he looks at Suna.

"Well, snatching birds off branches won't really help much in the arena now, would it?" Suna laughs humorlessly, smiling wryly at Osamu. The latter pretends to not see the warning in his eyes.

Osamu shrugs, "No, but ya have a better chance at winning."

"I'm _not_ gonna win this," Suna hisses, tightening his grip on his cutlery.

"Ya don't know th—"

"Listen, 'Samu!" Suna slams his fist onto the table, making him flinch out of surprise. "It's _you_ who's going to win this, not me. You deserve to go back because Nene and Atsumu are waiting for you. They need their brother back."

Osamu's breath hitches in his throat, rendered speechless at the sheer amount of anger swirling in his olive hues. He could only stare, as Suna turned away, the anger morphing into sorrow, vanishing as if it wasn't even there in the first place, as if Osamu had been hallucinating all this time.

"But me?" Suna shakes his head, smiling mirthlessly. "Unlike you, 'Samu. I have nobody left waiting for me at home."

Suna clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms in an attempt to keep himself from tearing up. "Mom, Dad, Ryutaro and Rieko..." he croaks out. "They're all gone.. so I might as well just die."

The table quiets down after his outburst, much like yesterday. Alisa's cyan eyes swim with sadness, their escort peering down at her food sadly, unable to keep a smile on her lips for any longer. It's the first time Osamu's seen her without a smile, it's an odd sight, she'd always been so happy all this time.

God, he feels bad. Dinner yesterday was already a wreck, and now lunch is too.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when Suna stands up, avoiding his eyes. "I'm not very hungry," he mumbles.

His friend turns, just about taking one step when Osamu's voice broke the tense silence.

"They're waiting for ya too," he mutters shakily. "'Tsumu and Nene."

Suna slowly looks at him over his shoulder, lips slightly parted, having not expected Osamu to say that. Osamu grits his teeth, hands balling into his pants as his chest flares up with anger at Suna's words.

He rises from his seat, turning to grab hold of Suna's collar before harshly slamming him into the wall, earning a shocked gasp from Alisa. Kita remains silent.

"So don't ya fuckin' dare," he growls, angry tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Suna only stares, wide-eyed, at the tears glistening in his eyes. "Say that ya have nobody waitin' for ya at home when ya know full well ya became family the moment ya bonded with us, jackass!"

Suna blinks rapidly, looking bewildered as he slowly takes in Osamu's words. He looks away, and Osamu calms down, loosening his grip on his collar, panting. 

The room falls into silence again, interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. "Enough," Kita says, voice firm with authority. "Let Suna-kun go, Osamu-kun. Violence won't solve anything."

Osamu does as told and lets go of Suna, suddenly feeling guilty as ever. To his surprise, Suna doesn't look mad at all. He's still not looking in Osamu's direction, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," Osamu murmurs quietly, internally cursing himself for lashing out. He doesn't want this argument to put a strain on their friendship, not when they're not even in the Games yet, and not when Suna means so much to him.

He has a billion things he wants to say, but all the words he attempts to produce dissolve on his tongue, his voice suddenly betraying him by vanishing when he needs it most.

Suna lets out a weak chuckle. He looks exhausted. "I know you're not, 'Samu. You can't lie to me."

Osamu frowns, "Well, then I take back my apology for slamming ya against the wall, jerk—"

"Not that." Suna's voice is soft. "You wanted to slap some sense into me, right?"

"...Right," Osamu says. He sighs, feeling awful. "I hope slamming ya against the wall and shouting in yer face knocked some sense into ya. Don't say that kind of stuff ever again, 'kay?" he ends up whispering the last part, feeling his hands pathetically start to tremble.

His hands reach up to quickly wipe the tears in the corners of his eyes away, not allowing any to roll down his cheeks because he'd rather not cry in the presence of so many people. He bites on his bottom lip so hard it nearly draws blood.

"I won't," Suna responds quietly, glancing over at Osamu, a guilty look in his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck, lost in his own thoughts. 

_Please don't cry,_ stands on the tip of Suna's tongue.

 _I despise seeing you cry. I'm sorry I made you cry,_ is left unsaid.

Osamu nods, looking up at Kita and Alisa. While Alisa looks worried sick, there's a devastated expression spread across Kita's pale face, as if a thousand thoughts are running through his mind all at once, slowly driving him insane.

He half-expects Kita to burst into tears right then and there, as far-fetched as that idea is. Instead, their mentor inhales a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Neither of you is hungry anymore, right? You're dismissed. Go back to your rooms and... rest for a bit." he mutters. 

Alisa looks over at him anxiously, obviously not liking the idea of them skipping meals, but she doesn't protest. She knows Kita's right, and it's not like if the lunch continues the atmosphere would get any less tense or awkward.

The two boys nod, turning around to exit the room. Once the door shuts behind them Osamu attempts to do nothing but storm back to his room and possibly mope about the argument for the next hour, but a hand latches around his wrist, causing him to nearly jump out of his own skin. 

He turns around, eyes wide. "Rin, what are ya—" 

"I'm sorry." 

Taken aback by the out of nowhere apology, Osamu casts him a look. "What are ya saying sorry for?" 

It's not like it's Suna's fault he lost his family. Suna's gone through _a lot_ , been through multiple tough times Osamu could never even imagine being in, let alone cope with it.

Those years of grief somehow have not changed the man Osamu sees smiling and teasing him every day, but he is well aware— that Suna is still suffering. The nightmares don't just _stop coming._

But the thing that upsets Osamu the most is the fact that even though Suna lost his biological family members, he still has _them—_ yet he doesn't acknowledge that.

And Osamu, _god forbid_ , would _never_ let Suna feel as if it's just him, alone against the cruel world. 

"For saying nonsense, as you said." Suna answers, and Osamu nods slowly. "And for making you feel like you had to apologize to me." 

Osamu hadn't been expecting _that._ His mouth gapes, dumbfounded, staring at Suna like an idiot. "What do ya mean?" 

"You apologized to me," Suna explains quietly. "You didn't have to. I was being foolish, and perhaps you slamming me against the wall was what I needed to snap me out of it." 

"...I hate when ya don't acknowledge your self-worth, Rin." Osamu admits, frowning. "Yer a lot more than ya think, ya know? Yer strong. Stronger than a lot of people I know." 

"I'll start blushing if you keep complimenting me, 'Samu."

Osamu does not feel even an ounce of regret in him when Suna lets out a pained yelp at the hard smack on the shoulder he receives from him. "Be serious for once, shithead." he deadpans.

Suna barks out laughter, gripping onto Osamu's shoulder even as the other boy huffs and turns away, glaring at him over his shoulder. However, he doesn't stop the small smile growing on his lips as he watches Suna try to compose himself.

"Atsumu told me something in the library before we boarded the train." Suna abruptly brings up, which garners Osamu's attention at the mention of his brother. "I was thinking about my family, and— I was lonely. I was just feeling miserable, because everyone in my family is dead, and I thought no one would come bid me goodbye." 

Osamu's breath hitches. It hurts, thinking of how alone Suna had felt at the time, drowning in despair and loneliness, and he couldn't do anything about it. Suna doesn't let him have the silence to sulk, continuing to speak.

"Atsumu— he came in to see me. Hugged me and told me that I was part of his family too. Along with you, and Nene." Suna adds, sighing at the memory, Atsumu's caring brown eyes still fresh in his mind. He pursed his lips, "I should've known, Osamu. I'm sorry for hurting you. You mean a _lot_ to me, alright? You, your brother, sister, and Kita-san."

Suna doesn't say it, but the look Osamu had given him when he was pressed against the wall— tear-filled eyes, quivering lips, and just pure _hurt—_ It broke Suna's heart. Tugged his heartstrings. Utterly tore it into pieces to see Osamu so upset, especially because he was the reason why. He never wants to see it ever again.

Osamu chokes out a hoarse laugh. "Perhaps that idiot is rather decent after all."

"Atsumu would be hurt you called him an idiot." Suna comments, patting Osamu's shoulder. He smiles at his best friend, soft and genuine. "Kita-san said it's okay to skip lunch and return to our rooms to rest." 

"No dessert, then." Osamu murmurs, giving a small grin. 

"I suppose not," Suna replies, sighing dramatically, biting his tongue to resist smiling again when Osamu laughs, the sound almost like music to his ears.

|———|

Those four days of ruthless training go on. Neither of them can afford to even be tired.

The Careers, like Kita mentioned before, are indeed arrogant. They're skilled, given they've been training at a special academy for years— something Osamu still finds unfair— but perhaps they think since they're supposedly _better_ they have the right to look down on the others.

At least that's how Osamu sees it. The Careers prefer sparring together whenever they're not individually training, or watch and snicker at the other tributes' training sessions during breaks.

It gets on Osamu's nerves, but Kita has made him and Suna promise not to get affected by them too much or purposely rile them up before they're in the arena. If Osamu didn't respect Kita and been a bit more irrational, he would've thrown an axe in one of the Career's faces by now.

But he's not one to be rash— that's Atsumu's characteristic, not him. Hell, if his twin was here instead of him, Osamu is pretty sure Atsumu would've given no fucks and gotten into arguments with the Careers anyway. 

Thinking of Atsumu causes him to momentarily zone out and lose focus, the axe he'd thrown towards the target accidentally missing the sign and flying behind it, clattering onto the ground. 

His shoulders slump, sighing as he runs a hand over his face. He distantly hears the Careers chuckling somewhere in the background, whispering among one another and probably mocking him for his failed efforts. 

Osamu should've thrown the god damn axe in their direction, for fuck's sake. But axe throwing, or weapon throwing in general, is not his forte— it's always been Suna's, while Osamu is physically strong, could probably bash someone's head in with his bare hands, and he's quite skilled with a bow and arrow. 

Both him and Atsumu excel in archery, but his brother is slightly, _just slightly,_ better. Osamu knows that the arrows his twin shoots are a tad more accurate, but Atsumu is what someone would say _rash_ , especially when he's mad. 

And most importantly, Osamu doesn't want his brother to be in danger. To hell with it if Atsumu holds a grudge with him. He hasn't regretted his decision to volunteer for Atsumu. Never has, never will. 

Osamu glances at the stand of weapons, jogs towards it, and grabs a bow, along with a quiver filled with arrows. 

He ignores the Careers when he walks past them, clutching onto the sling of his quiver to start his own individual training. 

Atsumu may be the better archer between the two of them, but Osamu has never enjoyed archery any less. 

While Suna Rintarou has never held a bow and arrow in his life— except that one time Osamu showed him a few years ago and he nearly shot it at a passing Atsumu instead— he has other specialties.

He may not excel in archery like the Miya twins or be skilled in healing like their sister Nene, but Suna is _stealthy._ It's how he's been able to get away with lots of things when he was a child, although that stopped after he met Kita because somehow Kita always _knew._

Suna has spent a lot of his free time fiddling with random knives. He's also quick, Osamu has told him so multiple times that he runs so fast into the forest Osamu isn't even able to catch up or see his figure. 

He's standing in a separate training area for throwing knives. At the back is a target in the shape of a human body, giving the tributes a chance to practice their weapon-throwing skills. 

A girl from another district is beside him, a few knives in her hand. She throws them one at a time, the knives all hitting the targets despite how far the distance is. She crosses her arms, looking a bit smug as she glances at Suna, waiting for his turn.

Suna picks up one knife, spinning it expertly in his hand. Without even blinking twice he throws it and it lands on the exact position of the heart. He grabs a few more and they hit all the body's vital points, including the forehead, neck, stomach, and artery vein on the thigh.

The target filled with knives is automatically moved to the back, replaced with a new target. Suna takes three knives from the stand and throws them _all at once,_ and each of them hit the target perfectly. 

The girl's expression falls, folded arms slowly falling to her sides, obviously feeling embarrassed for bragging earlier.

Suna lets out a huff, allows a smirk to grace his lips before he walks away.

Off to find his favourite tribute. 

"What are you doing, 'Samu?" 

Osamu instinctively jumps. He relaxes almost immediately after, shoulders sagging as he lifts his head to glare at the person poorly trying to stifle his laughter. 

"What did I tell ya about creeping up on me like that?" Osamu scowls, getting up from his crouching position to stand eye-level to Suna. Suna snorts, grinning at him mischievously. 

"It's not my fault you suck at noticing stuff when you're so focused on something," Suna responds, swiftly dodging the arm aiming to whack at the back of his head, chuckling. 

"What are you doing?" Suna repeats, raising an eyebrow at Osamu's work of twigs, dry grass, and stones. "Making a fire?" 

Osamu rolls his eyes. "Ya answered yer own question, idiot." 

"I thought I told you to stop being so mean to me." 

"I must've forgotten," Osamu hums, ignoring the deadpan stare Suna sends him. "Ya done with yer individual training already?" 

Suna nods, watching his friend bend down to continue working on his fire. It works successfully after a moment of Osamu rubbing two sticks together, an ember begins to form and a small fire is lit in the pile of branches and rocks. 

"Well, I know who I'm going to when I need to start a fire—" Suna begins, pausing mid-sentence when he senses someone's gaze on them. He glances behind them, spotting a young girl staring at Osamu, before flinching when she notices Suna's eyes on her and hides. 

Osamu looks up, confused as to why Suna stopped talking, then sees the girl as well. Somehow, his eyes soften, turning to scan the board with a list of all the tributes' names on them, halting when he sees a picture of the girl's face. 

Yachi Hitoka, a tribute from District 11. 14 years old. Only two years older than his own sister. 

Weirdly, Osamu sees a small resemblance between them despite the stark contrast in their appearances— with Yachi's light hazel eyes and short blonde hair and Nene's dark brown ones and long black locks, they look almost nothing alike except for in terms of their similar heights. 

And somehow, Yachi reminds him of her. Perhaps it's the fact he's still terribly, _terribly,_ homesick, something that still keeps him up in the depths of the night, staring blankly at the ceiling in his bedroom, surrounded by cold bedsheets. The only thing making it a little bit better is Suna, Kita, and even Alisa's presence. 

The nudge he receives on his arm from Suna snaps him out of his daze. "It seems like you have a fan." Suna whispers, chuckling quietly. 

"Shut it, Rin."

Osamu has intended for his words to be harsh or snarky, but things don't seem to go his way when his voice comes out harmless and soft.

He gets a pinch on the cheek for that. "What did I say about being mean to me?" Suna teases, grinning. 

"Stop that," Osamu hisses, gently slapping his hand away from his cheek. He subtly gestures to the tributes watching them interact in the corner. "People are watching."

And yet, Osamu can't stop grinning. Distantly recalling the teary-eyed face Osamu had displayed yesterday at lunch, seeing him smile again can't help but cause Suna's heart to pick up speed, and his cheeks feel oddly warm. 

Damn it.

"Hey, Rin." Osamu's voice gains Suna's attention, snapping him out of his thoughts and back to reality. Suna blinks a few times, eyes eventually settling on Osamu. "Come with me for a sec."

"What for?"

"I have an idea I'd been meaning to try out with ya." Osamu explains briefly, leading him towards a training area with multiple weapons around them. "I thought it'd be beneficial for the both of us."

"And what is that?" Suna questions, making a puzzled face when Osamu hands him a knife, and several targets are being positioned in front of them.

"Show me how to throw knives," Osamu says, smiling at him. "And I'll teach ya how to shoot again."

|———|

"Yer holding the bow the wrong way."

"Shit," Suna curses under his breath, hurriedly adjusting the bow's position. "Sorry." 

Osamu keeps quiet, eyes scrutinizing him as he goes around. Suna bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling at the cute way his nose is scrunched up in concentration.

"Lift the bow up a little more," Osamu quips, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Like... this?" his eyebrows knit together as he does as he's told, growing all the more confused.

Osamu chuckles, moving closer. "Here," he gently grasps Suna's elbow, correcting the mistakes in his stance. "Move your arm a little... hold the arrow tighter, yeah."

Suna gulps, trying to ignore the way Osamu's breath brushes against his ear as he stands behind him to adjust his arms, willing himself to focus on the target, even if it takes up all of his willpower because Osamu is more distracting than he looks, especially with how close they are at the moment.

He feels Osamu's hands trail down his arms, unknowingly leaving goosebumps in their path and sending shivers down Suna's spine. He bites his bottom lip, supressing a shudder when Osamu steps closer, pressing his chest to his back, enveloping him in warmth.

His best friend is oblivious, deeply concentrated as he fixes the mistakes in Suna's stance, hands moving here and there to pull his elbow back, tip his head down a little to the side and— _oh_.

Osamu blinks, meeting Suna's wide eyes when he looks up upon hearing a sharp inhale. He stiffens, breath hitching in his throat when their lips nearly brushed. Seeing his friend's face up close finally makes him realize how the distance between them has been reduced to the point it's almost nonexistent.

_When had they gotten this close?_

He holds Suna's gaze, neither daring to open their mouths and address the situation that befell them. He could only stare as if hypnotized by Suna's golden hues, mouth opening and closing like a fish when his voice refuses to come out.

He suddenly becomes hyperaware of the way his fingers grasped Suna's forearm, the way his chest was pressed to his back, the way—

Osamu is unable to stop the fiery blush that blooms across his cheeks, his heart skipping a beat in his chest.

—their lips are only mere centimeters apart.

The silence is ultimately broken when Suna's fingers slip, letting the arrow fly through the air with a swift swoosh, hitting the target square in the chest. They stare at it for a few moments, speechless, before Osamu jumps back, finally regaining control of his body.

"Good job," he coughs out, hiding his blush behind his hand. "Ya did great."

Suna looks the other way, lips pressed into a thin line, and cheeks still tinted red. "Thanks," he mumbles, rubbing his nape.

It falls silent again, with both of them avoiding each other's gazes as they try to get their hearts to stop pounding in their chests. Osamu bites his bottom lip, resisting the urge to groan out in embarrassment while Suna simply lowered his eyes, letting them focus on the ground.

Osamu takes a deep breath, composing himself. "Looks like 'Tsumu won't need to worry about losing his head anymore," he says quietly, giving a small grin when Suna's eyes flick to him.

Suna lets out an amused huff, smiling with his eyes, "It could just be beginner's luck, y'know,"

"A little late, don'tcha think?" Osamu raises a brow, crossing his arms.

His comment prompts a chuckle to exit his lips, face splitting into a smile as he nods. "Yeah, a few years _too_ late," he rolled his eyes.

Osamu nudges him with his elbow. "C'mon, lighten up," he pats his shoulder, grinning. "Who knows? It could've been worse."

"What? Was I going to somehow shoot at Atsumu again even if he's hundreds of miles away?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

Somewhere in District 12, Atsumu lets out a loud sneeze that makes him drop a log onto his foot, eliciting a shriek from him.

"After all," Osamu turns, meeting Suna's eyes, gray hues having a serious glint to them.

"We never know what the universe holds for us."

|———|

Kita stares up at the scoreboard displaying the odds of each tribute, hazel eyes trained on his district's row as he watches both Suna and Osamu's odds rise to 23-1. He chews on his bottom lip, eyes flicking to look at District 1's row, where one of the tributes boasted the odds of 3-1.

He taps his foot against the ground, feeling his anxiety start to spike. _The odds for them aren't looking so good_ , he grits his teeth. _Not a good sign._

Kita squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. _Calm down, calm down, the evaluation hasn't passed yet. There's still a chance for the odds to change.  
_

He recalls Suna's outburst from lunch a few hours prior, the words he said still ringing in his ears, clear as day.

" _Mom, Dad, Ryutaro and Rieko, they're all gone._ "

Ryutaro and Rieko, he's familiar with those names and the faces which accompanied them. A boy whom he saw in Suna, and a girl who had the sweetest smile.

They were the tributes reaped in the 67th and 68th Hunger Games a few years ago. Two out of the many poor children he couldn't save. Ryutaro had a true heart and Rieko had a kind soul— it was already clear they wouldn't last long.

Ryutaro lasted two days in the arena before his mental health took a turn for the worse, causing him to throw himself off a cliff. He was 17.

Rieko, however, lasted two additional days longer than her brother, managing to live off the forest's bearings, until she had her throat slit by a tribute she had tried to help. She was 16.

Kita had tried to be the best mentor he could— always giving motivation, providing tips and advice— because he still had _hope_.

But after seeing the light visibly leave Rieko's eyes and hearing the hosts on TV making fun of her pitiful pleas which had come to haunt him every night, until this very day— the small spark of hope he had started to dwindle until it ultimately went out, leaving nothing but ashes.

From there on out, he was nothing but a ghost of the boy he once was. He wonders, what would his 16-year-old self think of him now? A man with a drinking habit who is unfit to take care of himself— let alone mentor tributes— and is plagued with catastrophic night terrors and attacks.

... What would Granny think of him?

He blinks, snapping out of his thoughts when laughter enters his ears.

He turns his head, eyes falling on a little boy as he tears open the gift his father had given him, squealing in delight when it turns out to be a toy sword. He unsheaths it, quick to swing it in his sister's direction as she screams, beginning to run around their parents. Their mother looked less than happy, chiding them with a stern gaze.

A tear falls onto the back of his hand, and he becomes aware of the tear tracks on his cheeks. Quickly bringing his hands up to wipe them, he stands up, walking out of the plaza with fast steps.

He's already lost twenty children to the Games. He doesn't know what he'll do if he loses two more.

However, something in the back of his mind tells him that might not be the case for this year's tributes. After all, he's already seen what they're capable of.

"Tomorrow, they'll bring you in one by one to evaluate your skills," he says to them at dinnertime, regarding them with a firm gaze. "This is important, because the higher your ratings, the more the sponsors."

He lifts a hand to prevent an Avox from refilling his glass, never tearing his eyes away from the two tributes across him as he added, "This is the time to show them everything."

The two of them don't say anything. He takes it as a sign they understood. 

"There'll be a bow," he averts his eyes to Osamu as he spoke. "Make sure you use it."

Kita receives a nod in return, understanding clear in Osamu's eyes. He doesn't miss a beat, immediately turning to Suna, "Suna-kun, make sure you use your stealth and the knives provided."

"They'll start with District 1, so you'll head in last..." he pauses, searching for the right words. Letting out a sigh, he leans into his chair, "Well, I don't know how else to put this but..."

Kita looks up, meeting their eyes again as his hazel hues glinted with certainty. He allows a small smile to lift his lips, "Make sure they remember you."

|———|

Osamu's leg bounces with anxiousness, hands firmly clasped together as he waits his turn for his evaluation. Suna is seated next to him, golden hues staring off into blank space with a disinterested look, until he hears a robotic voice call out Osamu's name.

The other boy takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax before getting up. He slowly walks over to the metal door while Suna watches, easily noticing how he oozes nervousness.

"Hey, 'Samu," Osamu looks back at him, questioning him with his gaze.

Suna gives him a reassuring smile, "Shoot straight."

He nods, returning the smile, then exiting the room through the door that opened for him. When the door closes behind him, he looks back at his friend one more time, meeting Suna's eyes again through the gaps. His friend gives him a slow nod, mouthing, _you can do it_.

Osamu turns his head away from the door, looking ahead of him. On the balcony, he could see the same people who had been watching them during their training sessions idly chat with each other with colorful beverages in their hands, lounging around in their fancy recliners. He blinks, noticing a bow propped up on a stand in the center of the room.

He approaches the stand, lifting his hand up to let it thread over the bow before picking it up. It rests fairly heavy on his palm, and it takes him a moment to adjust to its weight.

Picking up an arrow, his eyes move to stare up at the people who have yet to bat an eye at him, continuing to chat among themselves.

His eyebrows furrow, _So they just decided to not care about the poorer districts?_

Frustration flares in his chest, and he clears his throat loudly, attempting to gain their attention. It proves to be effective when the Head Gamemaker, as well as a few other people, finally turn to look his way, and he resists the urge to shy away from the man's calculating gaze.

"Miya Osamu," he announces. "District 12."

Hasegawa gives him a subtle nod to begin, and Osamu immediately looks away, knowing that he couldn't hold his gaze for much longer lest he faints out of nervousness.

He walks towards the target stands, nocking his arrow. Trying to ignore the multitude of sharp gazes trained on him, he brings his bow up and pulls the string back, arrow trained on the center of the target. His hands tremble, not used to the weight of his bow yet, and he gulps, trying to will them to stay still when his fingers slip.

Osamu curses when he ends up shooting the arrow into the left side of the target, missing the chest by a long shot. He looks over his shoulder upon hearing laughter, watching as Hasegawa throws his head back with a chuckle before he ultimately turns away, deciding to pay him no mind any longer.

The boy clenches his jaw, eyes slowly narrowing with anger. He marches over to the stand, picking up another arrow and expertly nocking it. This time, he takes the time to actually try and calm down the erratic beating of his heart, allowing him to focus properly as he adjusts to the weight of the new bow.

He lets out an exhale, and releases the string from his grasp.

The arrow soars through the air, hitting the target square in the chest with a resounding thump. Osamu lets out a quiet breath, slowly looking over to the balcony with an expectant gaze. His heart drops when he realizes none of them had been watching at all.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Hasegawa quips, walking towards the buffet table and gesturing to the roast pig in the center. Laughter from the other officials erupts around the table. "Who ordered this pig? Who ordered this pig?"

Osamu gapes at them as they begin to crowd around him, laughing along with him. He blinks, eyes falling on the red apple stuffed into the pig's mouth. An idea pops into his mind.

He turns, grabbing another arrow from the stand. This time, he aims it at the ruby red fruit, putting all his hopes onto this one arrow before letting it fly.

Hasegawa's laugh is cut short when an arrow sharply pierces through the apple and into the wall in front of him, causing him to whip his head back in shock. He meets Osamu's piercing gaze, and this time, it's his turn to gape.

Osamu gives a bow, maintaining eye contact all the way. "Thank ya for yer consideration." he huffs.

He turns away, placing the bow back on the stand before briskly walking towards the exit, with everyone still gaping at him like fish out of water.

Suna stands up the moment he walks in. "How'd it go?" he asks, Osamu simply shakes his head.

"I think I might've fucked myself over, Rin," his friend mutters, massaging his temples.

"What did you do?"

Osamu groans, running a hand through his hair, "I shot an arrow at the Head Gamemaker."

Suna's eyes blow wide. "You're kidding," he blurts out.

He gives him a look, "Do I look like I'm kidding right now?"

They freeze when the same robotic voice calls out Suna's name, their eyes instinctively moving to look in the direction of the voice.

" _Suna Rintarou._ "

"Whatever, forget about me," Osamu reaches out, patting his shoulder. He gives him a smile. "Yer turn, make them remember ya like Kita said."

Suna returns the smile, mischief flashing in his eyes, "Will do."

He walks over to the metal door, briefly halting for it to open for him, before walking out without sparing another glance behind him.

His steps are silent as he leisurely strolls into the room, hands tucked into his pockets. Stopping in the center, right across the balcony, his eyes observe Hasegawa's profile as he continues to stare at the arrow in the wall while everyone is angrily bitching to one another.

_"This is an outrage!"_

_"How dare he do such a thing?"_

_"He should be executed!"_

He almost wants to laugh. Osamu's arrow wasn't directed towards them at all, so why are they whining about it? If he wanted to shoot them all, they'd already be dead the moment he picked up his bow.

Suna continues to watch quietly, looking thoroughly amused.

It's almost funny how they're so oblivious to their surroundings too, especially when five minutes have gone by and they have yet to notice him standing in the middle of the room.

He's starting to grow bored, about to open his mouth when he catches movement in his eyes. Hasegawa finally turns his head in his direction, looking as if he's confused about something when he meets his eyes. Suna's eyes light up with interest at the visible flinch that comes from him the moment their eyes lock.

_Oh?_

Excitement flares in his chest, a slow smile making its way onto his face at the sight of Hasegawa's eyes growing all the more frightened.

He grins, baring his fangs in an almost feral way. "About time. I haven't got all day for this, you know." he drawls.

"Apologies," Hasegawa coughs, turning to face him as a few other people follow suit, staring at him with a tinge of surprise in their eyes.

_"When had he gotten there?"_

_"I didn't even notice him."_

_"His eyes are freaky."_

_Oh, this is fun._

"Suna Rintarou, District 12," he hums, tipping his head.

Hasegawa nods, "Present your chosen skill."

"I'll get to that in a second, do you guys not have forcefields around here or something?" Suna inquires, gesturing to the balcony with a questioning look.

He watches as Hasegawa's eyes narrow, flashing with anger. "That is none of your concern," he growls. "You are here to—"

"Because without forcefields, it just gives me the opportunity to do—" Suna's arm juts out, and Hasegawa freezes as something flies past his face, cutting a few strands of his hair.

A few people scream as three throwing knives embed themselves into the wall with the arrow. Suna's face relaxes into yet another grin, relishing in the way Hasegawa looks behind him in shock before his eyes avert back to him with a new expression of fear.

"That." Suna perks up. "Oh, and also _this_ —"

Multiple shrieks from the officials are heard when he swiftly flings his other arm out, sending three more knives into a target stand a few yards away. All knives hit home, embedded into the head, chest, and stomach.

He gives them a low bow, still grinning dangerously as he stands back up.

"Thank you for your time," he quips, before practically hopping out of the room, knowing that he's got the Head Gamemaker watching him with a careful eye now after what he's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing process discussion:
> 
> "hold on suna's eye color keeps changing between olive and golden in the fic"
> 
> "oh shit- they aren't golden??"
> 
> "in close-ups they look golden wtf or am I tripping"
> 
> [attaches picture of suna] "HIS EYES ARE GREENISH AHSDGHASDH OKAY GREENISH-YELLOW" 
> 
> "fuck."
> 
> "his character page says 'He has grayish-yellow narrow eyes and thin eyebrows.' WHAT" 
> 
> "WHAT IS GRAYISH YELLOW" 
> 
> "IDFK" 
> 
> in conclusion please ignore the eye color mistakes in the past chapters we have bad eyesight
> 
> update to writers' shenanigans: "will the suna stans come for us for messing up his eye color"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit's bouta drop already? oh damn

"What. Were. You. Two. Thinking?!" Alisa practically screams at them, radiating anger as she paces back and forth in front of them, heels clicking loudly. Saying she's mad is an understatement, she is _enraged_. In fact, she looks as if she's just seconds away from tearing them a new one.

Osamu and Suna could only grimace at every yell, smiling nervously as their escort only gets more hysterical at each passing second. They don't dare to speak, knowing that they have no excuses for what they did during their skill evaluation sessions.

However, both of them wouldn't take back their actions even if they could. Hell, they would even do it again without hesitation. They'd give zero fucks if the Head Gamemaker decides to take it out on them personally in the arena. He could come at them for all they care.

"We just got agitated," Osamu murmurs sheepishly, avoiding her eyes.

Suna huffs. "Not me, I was hoping I'd at least get a cut in on him," he grumbles, wincing when Alisa lets out a horrified gasp.

"You do realize your actions reflect badly on all of us, right?" their escort scowls, using her fan to gesture to everyone in the room. "Not just you two!"

Osamu stifles a sigh, folding his arms over his chest while Suna simply tries to zone out her nagging, staring at the clock on the wall as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen in his life.

"They just want a good show, it's fine," Aran tries to placate her, but Alisa only gets more and more infuriated, the pinch between her brows growing more prominent.

"How about it's just bad manners, Aran?" Alisa snaps. "How about that?"

Aran simply sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, deciding to give up on trying to calm the agitated woman down because he knows his efforts will go to waste no matter what he says.

"What's going to happen if the Head Gamemaker decides he'll personally see to your demises in the arena?" Alisa smacks Suna on the shoulder with her fan, sending him a sharp look that reads, _listen_. The boy resists the urge to groan, clearly not in the mood for a motherly lecture.

She places her hands on her hips, raising a brow, "Or what if he decides to make it even more deadly by adding in the most dangerous of mutts? Or traps?"

The two boys submissively bow their heads, ears red with embarrassment. It's almost a funny sight, two grown boys cowering from a woman who barely— actually, they have every right to be fearful of her, her height surpasses even Kita's by three centimeters, and with heels, she reaches Osamu's height.

Damn family genetics, her younger brother is 194 centimeters tall too.

Suna desires greatly to evaporate out of thin air, lips pressed into a thin line. It's been years since he's gotten lectured like this. Atsumu's yapping doesn't even come close to their escort's angered tone right now. Note to self, don't make Alisa mad again.

"What about that? What if he decides to take it out on—"

"I'm sure he already has, Alisa," Kita's emotionless voice makes an appearance, its abruptness causing the hairs on Osamu's neck to stand erect as he jolts. He turns his head, looking at the man whose presence was so concealed nobody had even realized he entered the room.

How long has he been standing there?

Kita averts his eyes to Osamu, the latter flinching upon meeting his hazel hues. "While I did tell you to make them remember you, I didn't mean for you to go and shoot an arrow, as well as throw knives at the Head Gamemaker," he says lowly, and Osamu gulps.

However, there is no hint of a warning in his voice.

"But I suppose, what's done is done. You can't take it back now," he sighs, the smallest of smiles appearing on his lips for a fraction of a second. "The two of you have good aim."

Osamu feels himself returning the smile, grinning back at Kita while Suna simply chuckles. 

Alisa regards him with a deadpan gaze, "I hope you know if anything happens, it's on them."

"You'd be worried too, that's why you're angry right now, right?" Kita raises a brow. "You're worried about them."

Alisa's cheeks immediately turn a pink hue, a surprised look gracing her features. 

Their escort opens her mouth, about to give a retort when Aran pulls her down into the seat next to him and shoves a pink drink into her hands without letting her speak.

He shushes her protests, keeping her grounded to the seat with a firm hand on her shoulder. He grins, "Relax, you're gonna get wrinkles from frowning like that."

Alisa huffs but relents, only because a projected screen appears on the wall with her little brother's face displayed on it.

Suna and Osamu shift in their seats, sitting upright as their smiles get replaced with equally grim expressions. They watch the screen expectantly as Lev begins to speak, a bright, talk show host grin on his face like always.

" _As you all may know, the tributes were rated on a scale of 1 to 12 after three days of careful evaluation,_ " Lev starts, arranging his papers. " _The Gamemakers would like to acknowledge that it was an exceptional..._ "

Osamu's head drowns out the rest of Lev's words as his heartbeat begins to quicken with anxiety. Worries after worries about his rating start to invade his mind, only increasing his fears as his nails began to dig into his skin.

Alisa's words repeat themselves in his mind like a mantra. Had he really done the right thing? Was it going to come back and bite him? Maybe he should've thought it over before letting the arrow fly. God, he's such an _idiot_.

" _From District 1, Terushima Yuuji,_ " Lev pauses, most probably for the suspense. Suna grits his teeth, holding back the urge to hurl a throw pillow at the TV. " _With a score of 10._ "

 _10_. Osamu blinks, slowly registering the newly acquired information.

Fear hits him like a brick, his blood running cold as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water onto him. _Shit_.

He hears a quiet curse coming from Suna beside him, a sigh from Aran, and a worried sound from Alisa. Kita, however, is another thing. He doesn't look worried, nor does he let anything show on his face at all.

Sometimes Osamu wishes to be able to do the same. To be able to keep a levelheaded face and a rational mind during stressful times.

He doesn't realize Kita has been staring at him until he hears him calling out his name, gray hues blinking away the fog in them.

Kita holds his gaze, his stare piercing like an arrow. "Your score hasn't been announced yet. Why are you already worked up?" he questions bluntly, not even bothering to change his tone.

A cold shiver shoots through his body like a bullet, making him immediately straighten up. "S-Sorry, Kita-san," he mumbles, quickly looking away, not wanting to be the subject of that gaze any longer.

A thought crosses his mind fleetingly, like a shooting star.

 _Kita-san's gaze is almost the same as the president's_.

Suna, too, feels a full body shudder course through when Kita spoke, even if he isn't the one receiving the cold end of Kita's blunt logic. Their mentor isn't someone who beats around the bush, he'd get straight to business the moment he could. And it looks like he still has that trait.

They avert their eyes back to the front, turning back to Lev announcing all the other tribute's scores.

District 1, Misaki Hana and Terushima Yuuji, 9 and 10. District 2, Semi Eita and Shirabu Kenjiro, 10 and 8. _As expected of the Careers,_ Osamu's face grows glummer. All of them received high scores, how is he—

He stiffens when Kita's eyes move to look at him again. Cold hazel hues burn into his head, and he swallows the lump in this throat, cold sweat rolling down his neck.

_Is this guy a mind reader or something?_

" _From District 11, Yachi Hitoka._ "

Upon hearing the mention of Yachi's name, Osamu snaps out of his thoughts, peering up at the nervous face of the small tribute being displayed on the screen with her score.

" _With a score of 7._ "

Osamu's eyebrows jump up in surprise. That's... not half bad. Pretty impressive for someone her age, actually.

He feels himself smile, chest slightly swelling with pride. If Kita notices this, he doesn't say anything of it, only looking back up at the screen from his seat.

Lev lets another smile grow on his lips, flipping onto the last paper. " _Now, finally,_ " he hums. " _Our last district._ "

Osamu's chest tightens, hands firmly clasped together. He could feel Suna shifting in his seat next to him, their shoulders brushing as he sits up. When he glances at him, he could see that Suna's face is schooled into an impassive look, but he could also see the faintest hint of anxiousness in his golden hues.

" _From District 12,_ " Lev looks down at his papers. " _Suna Rintarou._ "

"Get on with it," Suna grits out lowly, Osamu gulps.

" _With a score of 10._ "

Alisa and Aran let out similar sounds of shock as they nearly leap off their seats, turning to face the boy with joyful expressions. Suna's shoulders slump in obvious relief, a smile growing on his face as he let out a shaky breath.

"We can work with that," Alisa grins. "You're on the same level as the Careers."

Osamu offers his friend a smile, forcing his anxiety away. "Congratulations," he gives Suna's shoulder a squeeze. "Ya earned it."

Suna's eyes flash with concern, his smile dropping. "'Samu—"

" _And finally,_ " Lev grins at the camera, excitement heard in his voice, as if he had been waiting for this all day. " _Miya Osamu._ "

Osamu turns rigid upon hearing his name, nails digging into his thighs to the point he almost breaks skin. His throat suddenly runs dry, and he could hear each heartbeat in his ears, becoming louder and louder at every passing second.

" _With a score of... 11._ "

His heart drops, the anxiety ebbing away to be replaced with calmness. Then disbelief, and finally relief.

"Outstanding!" Aran exclaims, looking at Osamu with a wide grin as he rises from his seat.

He feels Suna wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling his side into his chest as he chuckled, "See? There was nothing to be so worked up about, 'Samu!"

Osamu lets a shaky laugh leave his lips, "Y-Yeah." he meets Kita's eyes, noticing the slight tinge of relief in them. "I thought they hated me."

His mentor picks up a drink from the table. "Well, I suppose you thought wrong," he flashes him a sly smile.

He still couldn't believe it, an 11? How did he manage to acquire such a score?

"To Miya Osamu, Messenger of Inari," Aran proposes a toast, and Alisa happily joins in, roping in Kita as well. The three of them clink their drinks together, while Osamu and Suna simply share a glance, happy smiles decorating their faces.

|———|

"An 11?" the president muses, never looking away from the rose in his grasp.

Hasegawa smiles, "He earned it."

"He shot an arrow at your head." the president says, slowly tearing his gaze away from the flower to stare at the Head Gamemaker.

"He shot it at an apple." Hasegawa corrects. 

"Near your head." the president adds. He leans back against the stone bench, beckoning for Hasegawa while he pats the empty space beside him. "Sit down."

Hasegawa swallows. It isn't wise to disobey the president's direct commands, so without another word to spare he steps closer and sits down, turning his head to the side to look at the president.

The president isn't looking at him, eyes straight ahead as he overlooks his rose garden, where multiple neatly trimmed bushes with roses tinted in white and crimson surround them, creating a beautiful view.

"Ryusei, let me ask you something." the president speaks, fiddling with his rose.

"Yes?"

"Why do you think we have a winner?"

Slightly taken aback by the abrupt question, Hasegawa doesn't reply at once. His eyebrows are furrowed, feeling rather puzzled as he attempts to study the president's expression, which he fails. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ , why do you think we have a winner?" the president repeats, leaning forward to look into Hasegawa's eyes. The Head Gamemaker resists a shudder overtaking his body.

It's a known fact of the officials and servants close to the president that he has a _powerful_ gaze. He doesn't yell or hit them, but simply by the way he stares them down as if they're nothing but the dirt under his shoes leaves everyone unsettled, even someone like Hasegawa.

Right now, Hasegawa feels the president's brown eyes bore into the depths of his soul.

"If we just wanted to intimidate the districts," the president continues, sensing that he wouldn't be getting a proper response. "We could've just rounded twenty-four of them and executed them all at once, am I right? It'd be much faster than holding an event like the Hunger Games." 

Hasegawa feels his throat dry up, body tensing. He doesn't know where this conversation is going, and his brain refuses to function normally under the intimidating and heavy eyes of the president, whose staring at him like he's nothing but a _joke_ , a small puzzle piece belonging to his empire. 

Puzzle pieces like him are disposable at any time. The citizens who live in the twelve districts— well, they can't even _compare_.

The president grins, but there's not a single hint of joy in it. "Hope," he explains, watching the gears in Hasegawa's head turn.

 _"Hope?"_ the Head Gamemaker echoes.

"It is the only thing—" the president pauses, tilting his head. "Stronger than fear."

He straightens, holding up a pair of silver scissors as he snips at the leaves of his rose. "A little hope is effective," he says. "A lot of hope is dangerous." 

Hasegawa looks down, observing the president do his handiwork. "Even a little spark is fine, as long as it's contained." he states.

There's a brief silence in the air before Hasegawa breaks it, clearing his throat. "So..." 

"So," the president steps in, arching a brow. _"Contain it."_ he tells him firmly.

Hasegawa has no choice but to agree, and years of working under the Capitol has shaped him enough into ensuring he does not stutter while talking to the president.

"... Of course, President Hinata." 

|———|

"Kita, how nice of you to join us." Alisa says, lips forming a smile behind the rim of her glass drink. Kita gives her a nod, approaching the dinner table and takes the vacant seat beside Aran.

"You seem to be in a good mood." Aran comments, chuckling as he pats Kita's shoulder. Kita's blank expression doesn't waver nor does he even look at him, taking a sip of the alcoholic drink an Avox serves him. 

"You can tell the difference?" Alisa asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Shinsuke isn't a rock," Aran barks out laughter. "Sometimes, you can just tell when someone's happy. They don't need to visibly show it for it to be obvious."

Alisa shrugs. "Whatever you say," she sighs, but otherwise doesn't look all that troubled. It's quite evident she's feeling glad that their dinner is going well for once, considering previous incidents. 

Aran shifts his gaze onto Osamu and Suna, grinning. "Your mentor is probably still feeling giddy over the fact the two of you scored so well and exceeded his expectations."

"I haven't actually gotten over the shock yet either," Osamu mutters, still finding it a surprise that after clearly pissing off and surprising the wits out of Hasegawa and his officials, they haven't done anything to them yet. He's glad Hasegawa liked the show, or else their chances of winning are doomed and Alisa would still be mad at them. 

He still hasn't completely recovered from the high-pitched, motherly-like earful and deadly glare that Alisa gave them after they left such an impression on the Head Gamemaker. Word of their evaluations has most likely even spread to the president's ears, but luckily, they weren't eliminated and executed on the spot.

"Don't drink too much, Kita-san." Suna smirks, observing their mentor down his drink, the glass already half-way empty— and it's only been less than five minutes since he sat down at the table. 

"I _always_ tell him this, believe me." Alisa huffs, setting her cutlery down. "But he never listens. Although I suppose it's not much of a big problem, even when he drinks a lot and gets drunk he doesn't act any different from when he's sober." 

"Kita-san has an incredibly high alcohol tolerance." Osamu adds, remembering their time on the train when Kita had finished three drinks and didn't show the slightest hint of being drunk or dizzy. His words were clear and his expression looked completely neutral. 

"I do." Kita agrees. He glances at Suna, and the boy instantly stiffens. "Suna-kun, I understand you've made a habit lately of trying to find something to poke fun at me, but I'll have to tell you right here and now that you won't." 

Suna turns speechless, his back straightening under Kita's judgemental gaze. "Yes, Kita-san." he mutters, looking a bit defeated and upset as he stares back down at his plate. 

Osamu attempts to hold back his laughter, and a laugh terribly disguised as a cough slips through his lips, which earns him a nudge to his rib by Suna's elbow. 

"Listen," Kita's authoritative voice stops them from nearly causing a scene at the dinner table. "Tomorrow's the last day. They let us work with the tributes right before the Games, so both of you will be going down with me at nine." 

"Okay," Suna responds. Osamu nods, suddenly losing his previous urge to hurl food in his face. The dinner table goes quiet, except for the occasional sounds of cutlery clanking and Aran repeatedly clearing his throat. 

"Do you need some water, Aran?" 

"I'm fine." the designer assures, waving off Alisa's look of concern. He gazes at the tributes, smiling. "C'mon, guys. It'll be fine. You've already come so far, and you have a great mentor. The training later with him will be good for you." 

"I've heard tributes from other districts prefer training on their own," Alisa speaks up, frowning. "A pity. Training with and getting advice from a mentor with experience is important." 

"This usually happens at some point," Kita explains. "After all, there can only be one winner." 

_There can only be one winner._

Hearing Kita's words cause Osamu to freeze, anxiety taking control over his body.

Between him and Suna, if they're lucky enough that one of them would be able to survive and win the Games, the other would have to die soon.

Osamu is built on the fact he wants to live, then go home happily and safely. Besides, he's very intent on keeping his sister's promise to try to win. 

But _Suna_. There's still Suna. Osamu's closest friend and one of the few people in his life who has truly been with him through everything. He wouldn't trade Suna for anything else in the world.

And that _stupid_ reply he received on the train when he asked Suna why he volunteered as tribute—

_"I'd rather you die in my arms than on a projected screen."_

He's aware Suna was joking. But he still doesn't understand why he did such a thing. 

Osamu is greedy, that's human nature. He wants things that are too far out of his reach, but if he's not careful, he might end up losing everything. 

But is wishing for _both_ him and Suna to be able to live and go home to their family just too much to ask in this cruel world?

When the time comes, Osamu isn't quite sure what he's going to do. 

|———|

"Ladies and gentlemen, your master of ceremonies— Haiba Lev!"

Lev turns his head, flashing a million-dollar smile at the audience as he rises up from his seat, microphone in hand. The crowd cheers, whistling and clapping at his entrance as he walks to the front of the stage, waving at his fans.

"Thank you!" he gives a bow, still grinning as he stands back up. "Thank you!"

Lev raises a hand, smile growing wider as the audience's cheering get louder. "Welcome, welcome, welcome to the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" he declares.

"Now, in about five minutes, they're all gonna be out here," he hums. "That's right, all of the tributes you've heard about."

His grin grows mischievous, "Are you excited? Let me hear it!"

The audience's cheering nearly overtakes his voice for a moment, and he lets out a delighted laugh, clearly satisfied with their reactions.

Osamu picks at his cuffs, trying to get his mind off the audience's deafening cheers that even manage to penetrate through the walls of his dressing room.

Suna is behind him, hands making quick work of his buttons while Aran pushes a few strands of his gelled back hair back into place, before smacking him on his back for him to straighten up, which earns a grumble from the younger boy.

"Well, don't you two look amazing," their stylist chuckles, moving to smooth out a fold on Osamu's sleeve.

The boy huffs, "I don't _feel_ amazing."

Aran frowns, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Don't you know how handsome and beautiful you look?"

Yes, he does. He saw himself in the mirror earlier after he had his make-up done. Aran had dressed him up like the embodiment of a storm. His suit is a beautiful thing, while his dress-shirt is black, he wears a vest stitched with the most intricate of designs, covered in beautiful gems that sparkle every time the light touches them.

His hair is done in the same way Suna's is, slicked back with a few locks free to fall onto his forehead. Aran had also taken the time to attach a few gems onto his hair, not too much to make him look like an eyesore, but just enough for his hair to glimmer later while he's under the spotlight.

He wonders if he looks borderline eyesore.

But then again, after seeing the way the citizens of the Capitol normally dress, he doesn't know what type of outfit would be gaudy enough for them to call an eyesore.

Their prep team has also given him a grayish-smokey eye, deciding to stick to the color scheme Aran had provided, as well as applied some glittery powder onto his cheeks which also twinkled under the shine of the lights.

If he could've had it another way, he wouldn't have dressed himself up or even let them try to make him look pretty. He almost looks like a whole new person after they waxed, tweezed, and hosed him down within an inch of his life, the previous grime he carried from his home all washed away.

He doesn't even know if he is originally this fair.

Osamu isn't a toy for them, he wants to scream that aloud. He isn't a doll for them to play dress-up with, but yet here he was, about to walk on stage with hopes of being eye-catching enough to garner sponsors who would be willing to help him in the games.

To put on an act that's so far from himself to be entertaining just so some rich and powerful people could be entertained and interested enough in him to want to help keep him alive in a deathmatch.

Which is only a day— no, a few hours away.

His breath catches in his throat, nails digging into his palm to stop tears from welling in his eyes. So much time has passed already, and Osamu feels as if he's less than prepared.

Two weeks have passed in the blink of an eye. It feels like it was only yesterday when Alisa's voice was still echoing Atsumu's name in his ears, when his sister's skin was warm against his, when her voice was shaky as she made him promise to win and return home.

"Osamu."

Suna's voice snaps him back to reality, and his gray hues meet a pair of familiar golden orbs, the same ones he saw in the crowd back in Twelve. He realizes he has been zoning out, and Suna has been calling out his name while holding his face in his hands.

Suna's eyes hold a look of concern, thumbs brushing over Osamu's cheekbones as he blinks, at a loss for words at the sight of the man before him, eyes unknowingly taking in the work their prep team did for him.

Suna looks— for the lack of a better word— ethereal.

He could see tiny, ruby red diamonds on the side of his face, adhered onto his cheeks right below his eyes which were painted the same way they were in the parade.

While Osamu's color scheme was gray and all shades of that, it was obvious Suna's was red. Red like the apple his arrow carved into the wall, red like the outfit of the Avoxes in their penthouse, red like the blood spilled on the arena ground every year.

"Are you okay?" 

"No," Osamu murmurs a response, not liking the way Suna's frown deepens. "But it's nothing ya have to worry about."

"Nothing I have to worry about? Osamu, who do you think I am?" Suna exclaims in disbelief, squeezing Osamu's cheeks. He ignores Osamu's protests, boring into his eyes with a rare seriousness. "I am your _friend._ And naturally, I'd worry about you if you're feeling upset, whether you say it's just nothing or not."

Osamu's heart skips a beat. He looks away from Suna's piercing gaze, feeling like he'd burn underneath it if he maintains eye contact any longer. Suna isn't in any way scary to him perse, most likely due to the fact they've been close since they were kids, but there have been several occurrences where other people found Suna... _intimidating._

Mostly because of Suna's height that towers over others— which reaches over six feet tall— and his eyes. It's not uncommon to find certain people's gazes scary, but Suna's is somehow different from the president and Kita's. Osamu doesn't know how to describe it, but he doesn't feel the cold, unsettling shudder he always gets when someone like Kita fixes him with one of his infamous blank stares whenever Suna looks at him.

He recalls something Atsumu once told him a few years ago. Osamu had brushed it off with a sarcastic remark aimed at Atsumu mainly because his brother's tone sounded teasing and cheeky, but now that he thinks about it— 

_"Y'know, Sunarin doesn't treat everyone so nicely. He normally isn't that patient or outgoing with anyone. Anyone but ya, 'Samu."_

"Don't zone out on me," Suna calls out, looking as if he's growing more and more concerned with every second Osamu doesn't answer. 

"I just have a lot on my mind." Osamu settles on replying, not wanting to elaborate on his inner conflicted feelings and hatred towards the Capitol when they're still in the dressing room, about to go on stage. He tries to reassure Suna by forcing a smile, but his friend looks less than pleased.

"I know you're faking it, don't even try." Suna huffs. "You do know you can always tell me anything, right?"

"Even when it's something stupid?"

"No worries. I already know you're dumb, so it won't be much of a surprise."

"Now I get why 'Tsumu gets so mad when ya call him dumb, ya asshole." Osamu mutters. He casts Suna a glare, though it doesn't last long as soon as he begins laughing. "I know. Thanks."

Suna smiles, squeezing Osamu's cheeks one last time before Aran calls for them and they're escorted out of their dressing room and walking down the hallways, where the other tributes dressed in their outfits are standing in one line waiting for their turns to go on stage for the interview. Outside, Lev's voice is booming through the microphone as the audience cheers wildly.

The tributes get to watch each interview on the wide television screen displayed in the room, where the tribute on stage would laugh and smile at Lev's jokes and comments, earnestly replying to them in hopes of gaining sponsors. Every time someone yells for the next tribute to get on stage when the previous interview is done, Osamu's heart only pounds harder in anxiety. 

This feeling doesn't even come _close_ to the Tribute Parade, because unlike having to just stand on a chariot, smile, and wave at people, they have to actually sit down and talk. Osamu had felt anxious enough during the parade, so he isn't even sure if his voice would come out later during the interview. His life literally _depends_ on this simple chat with Lev. 

The line gradually gets shorter as each tribute eventually finishes their interviews. Osamu doesn't really pay much attention to them since he's busy panicking himself, only watching a bit when the Careers show up, but he _does_ concentrate on the screen when the face of a familiar young girl appears.

 _"Good. So you can climb trees,"_ Lev says to Yachi, who is nervously smiling back at him, hands folded on her lap. _"And you're pretty quick too. Are you a hunter? Or a gatherer?"_

Osamu looks away when Yachi's turn is over. He stares at the ground for a moment as Yachi gets off the stage. 

"And finally, from District 12— you know him as the Messenger of Inari!" the moment Lev announces that, someone arrives to lead Osamu out of the waiting room and onto the stage. The moment he is standing on it he's forced to look up, hoping his smile doesn't look too awkward when he walks towards Lev. Surprisingly, the crowd cheers louder than before at his appearance as if they had been waiting to see him. "Give it up for Miya Osamu!"

Lev's grin is wide as Osamu approaches the chair, slowly sitting down on it. He turns to face the audience, hearing his heart race much louder than the enthusiastic cheering he receives. The host welcomes him, shaking his hand and the cheering ceases.

"That was quite an entrance you made the other day," is what Lev first tells him, grinning from ear to ear.

"Huh?"

The host laughs, looking at the audience as they laugh too, much to Osamu's confusion. "I think someone's a little nervous." Lev comments, chuckling. "I said, that was quite an entrance you made during the Tribute Parade. Want to tell us about it?"

"Well, I was just hoping I wouldn't burn to death." Osamu replies honestly. He still remembers the genuine worry and fear he felt before Aran was assuring them it wasn't real fire. Somehow, the audience finds his words absolutely hilarious, multiple of them laughing rather loudly. Osamu doesn't join them.

"Tell us, Miya-san," Lev continues, leaning closer, resting his forearms on the top of his thighs. "Were those real flames?'

"Yes," Osamu lies, keeping a neutral expression to ensure he doesn't look as if he's lying. He catches Aran's eyes in the audience, who looks at him with an expression as if trying to say— 

_You're doing great._

Lev hums, eyes sweeping over Osamu's outfit. "You've gone for a different style today than your last entrance at the parade," he points out. "When your chariot and those fire-tails came out, that _stunned_ me. I was speechless. Many of our hearts stopped when that happened, right folks?"

The crowd cheers and whistles as a response. Osamu laughs, lightly shrugging. "Well, so did mine."

He isn't lying this time, and everyone seems to love his answer. Lev flashes him a big smile, and as the cheering dies down, the host inhales deeply, his grin quickly fading.

"I have one more question for you," Lev begins. "It's about your brother."

Osamu's heart nearly stops, body freezing at the mention of Atsumu. He hopes no one had noticed the way he tensed up.

"We were all very moved when you volunteered for him at the Reaping." Lev adds. "I hear you also have a little sister. Did they tell you goodbye?"

Images of the memory from several weeks ago flash in Osamu's head. "They did."

"And what did you last say to them before you left?"

"I told them..." Osamu tries not to stammer, eyes fixed on Lev's green ones. "I told them that I would try to win. That I would win for them."

The crowd awes. Lev nods in understanding, "And try you will." 

He stands up, and Osamu follows suit. Lev grabs his hand and raises it in the air as he did with all the other tributes, announcing loudly, "Ladies and gentlemen, from District 12, Miya Osamu!"

The crowd claps and cheers. Osamu is then finally allowed to get off the stage, away from everyone's eyes, and he releases a breath he didn't realize he's been holding.

|———|

"That was amazing," it's not really surprising, but seeing Alisa's smiling face upon leaving the stage relieves Osamu beyond end. He's extremely glad to be able to end the interview without any problems. He didn't smile or talk much, but hopefully, Aran's job at making his outfit look as captivating as possible manages to gather some attention. 

"You did great, darling." the escort says, putting a hand on his back. Osamu nods, smiling weakly. 

"Nice job, Osamu-kun." Kita's voice is heard behind them. Osamu and Alisa turn around, and the mentor is approaching them, smiling softly. "Nice clothes."

"Thanks," Osamu mumbles. 

_"And finally, Suna Rintarou!"_

The declaration of Suna's name coming from the television screen catches Osamu's attention. He fixates his gaze on it, observing closely as Lev smiles and shakes hands with Suna.

_"What do you think of the Capitol?"_

_"It's different,"_ Suna answers, leaning back against the chair with his leg crossed over the other. _"It's very different from back home."_

 _"Different? In what way? Give us an example."_ Lev asks. 

_"Well, for one, the showers here are weird."_

The two continue chatting and Suna makes a comment about the weird showers in the Capitol. It occasionally earns laughter from the audience, which is a good sign that would probably attract sponsors who like his humor. 

_"You definitely smell better than I do."_

_"Well, I've lived here longer."_ Lev jokes, slapping his knee as everyone erupts in laughter. The host looks at Suna, grinning, _"Very funny."_

_"So, Suna-san. Do you have a certain somebody waiting for you at home?"_

_"Well, I have close friends."_

_"You know I don't mean friends."_

Lev's words seem to capture everyone's full attention, as the crowd is silently waiting for his response, all watching him carefully. Thankfully, Suna doesn't seem pressured by the intensity of it, looking perfectly composed.

_"I wouldn't say I do... nah, I don't."_

_"I don't believe it for one second! Everyone, look at his face! Such a handsome face ought to have countless ladies tripping over themselves to win your praise."_

The audience claps eagerly in agreement to Lev's statement. Suna laughs, but Osamu knows it's just a front— his smile doesn't exactly reach his eyes and the sides of it don't crinkle. 

_"... There is this one person, but I wouldn't say they're a woman."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Yet... I can't help but think that sometimes, his beauty is on par with a woman's."_

_"Who is this mystery man, if I may ask, Suna-san?"_

_"Well, he's your mystery man too. A certain mystery man with gorgeous gray eyes that shine like stars under the moonlight."_

_"How romantic."_ Lev chuckles, pointing a finger at Suna. _"Let me tell you, you go out there and win this thing, and when you get back home, he'll have to go out with you. Right, folks?"_

The crowd cheers enthusiastically, though a few people looked disheartened at the mention of him having a lover. Lev laughs along with them, but Suna's smile is fading, wilting away like a flower.

 _"Thanks, but I..."_ Suna sighs. _"I don't think winning will help me."_

Lev raises an eyebrow, curious _. "Hm? And why is that?"_

 _"Because... he came here with me."_ Suna replies slowly, his expression stoic. He looks at the crowd, and says, _"Miya Osamu, he's the person I like."_

From the screen, multiple audible gasps are heard, and murmurs start arising. Lev almost looks pitying, simply nodding his head, _"I see."_

He gets up from his seat, raising Suna's right hand in the air, announcing, _"From District 12, Suna Rintarou!"_

The second his name had been declared on stage, Osamu freezes. Everything goes quiet, and he doesn't even register the interview ending and Lev calling it a night, nor does he hear Alisa worriedly calling out his name, frantically patting his shoulder.

His world stops. And once again, Osamu's anxiety returns in full-force. This time, it's accompanied by a mixture of confusion and slight frustration— although judging by what's just happened—

He thinks that's very reasonable of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inari Ōkami [稲荷大神] is also called Ō-Inari [大稲荷], is the japanese kami of foxes, of fertility, rice, tea and sake, of agriculture and industry, of general prosperity and worldly success.
> 
> reference for [osamu's outfit](https://www.smokedglassgoggles.co.uk/aristocrat-vest-black-edwardian-brocade-fabric-by-shrineofhollywood/) and [suna's outfit](https://subculturecorsets.com/collections/alternative-tops/products/aristocratvestinredblackbrocade?hcb=1)
> 
> writer's discussion process pt.2:
> 
> [excitedly planning the plot for future chapters including content that would mentally scar and traumatize the characters for ages]
> 
> "LET'S KILL SOME PEOPLE"
> 
> "even jesus won't save you after this, but neither will he save me because I'm a fellow contributor to writing this"


	5. Chapter 5

"Rintarou."

Osamu's voice has never sounded so serious before, and it's been ages since he's called him by Suna's full name without it being accompanied by a lighthearted smack or joking, teasing tone.

It surprises Suna to the core, evident by the way his eyes widen almost comically and the hint of shock and hurt flashing across his expression. 

He halts in his steps, looking up to meet Osamu's gaze. The shock hasn't entirely sunk in yet, so Suna's left with his mouth gaping like an idiot as he stares at the face of his closest friend and the man he just admitted to being in love with minutes ago on stage.

"Why'd ya say that?" Osamu steps forward, eyebrows knitting together with obvious frustration when his question went unanswered, the tension hanging between them almost palpable by everyone in a one-mile radius.

Suna avoids his eyes, unable to find the courage to look into the same gray eyes he called beautiful in his mind for over countless times now.

He had a plan when he admitted to being in love with Osamu. He could easily tell this to him right now, but it's as if there's a knife lodged in his throat, preventing him from saying anything. 

Why? It isn't as if Osamu is going to be the one hurt, it's _him_. 

"Rintarou, answer me," Osamu almost begs, hands coming up to grasp Suna's shoulders.

Suna's eyes hesitantly flicker up, meeting Osamu's desperate gaze, gray eyes holding a look which was reminiscent of a kicked puppy.

"Is it true?" Osamu whispers. 

"No," Suna answers, carefully watching Osamu's expression. His friend opens his mouth as if wanting to say anything, but no words seem to leave his mouth. Osamu himself is looking into Suna's eyes as if searching for any hint of a lie, secretly demanding an explanation. 

"He did you a favor, Osamu-kun." Kita speaks up, placing a hand on Osamu's shoulder, gently pulling him away from Suna to set some distance between them. "It was part of a plan." 

"He's right, Osamu." Aran adds, suddenly appearing behind Kita, with Alisa tailing after them, looking quite concerned. The stylist pats a comforting hand on Osamu's back. "Let Shinsuke explain." 

Kita nods, standing in between Suna and Osamu. He clears his throat, "Now, I can sell the star-crossed lovers from District 12—"

Osamu looks at him incredulously, somewhat baffled by Kita's words, "But we _aren't_ star-crossed lovers—" 

"It's a television show." Kita cuts off his protest, fixing Osamu with a stern gaze. Osamu immediately shivers, shrinking in on himself. He can take a hint— and he knows that this is the right time to shut up. 

"The whole purpose of this interview is to let the sponsors get to know you and for you to gain their attention," Kita explains, arms crossed. He glances at the two boys back and forth, "And being in love with each other might just attract interested sponsors, which could save your lives." 

From an outsider's perspective it might be a bit funny to witness two tall men obviously getting lectured by a man so much shorter, but to Osamu, who's, unfortunately, the one tied up in this situation, wants nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow him right now. 

"Now, shall we get out of here?" Aran suggests, leading them up a flight of stairs. "It's been an exhausting evening."

"Are you okay, dear?" Alisa makes a move to ask Suna. When Suna doesn't answer her, she sighs, offering a small, comforting smile. She pats his back and says softly, "You did well."

Osamu stares at Suna, but Suna doesn't return the gaze. He's forced to look away and walk when Aran calls for him, tugging him on the arm so they could hurry up and get some rest.

|———|

Even the Capitol's luxurious and comfortable beds are unable to put Osamu to sleep tonight. Again.

It's probably been days since he last had proper sleep since he arrived here. Osamu tosses and turns, frowning when he's still feeling wide and awake. 

He eventually gives up, tossing the covers aside and gets off the bed, leaving his bedroom. Every light in the penthouse has been turned off, so the room is dimmed. 

Osamu strides past the dining room, stops in his tracks when he sees a human figure sitting on one of the windowsills. He gets closer, somewhat unsurprised when he realizes who it is. 

"So ya can't sleep too?" he asks. Suna doesn't even look back at him as he approaches the windowsill, only allowing a soft chuckle to escape his lips. 

"Seems like you and I both suffer from insomnia." Suna comments, smiling at Osamu when he sits down opposite of him. Osamu looks up at him, still able to make out the features of Suna's face even in the dark. 

Suna's bangs are a tousled mess on his forehead, sticking out in awkward directions. Like Osamu, he's dressed in his nightwear, but with the top few buttons on his shirt unbuttoned. There are dark bags hanging under his eyes, and Osamu knows his face is similar— judging by the fact both of them have not been sleeping properly. 

A beat of silence passes, neither of them speaking up as he continues to gaze beyond the glass.

Osamu's resting his head against the wall, eyes fixated on the skyline as he tries to take it in one last time, knowing that this might be the last time he could see the big, tall skyscrapers of Panem. Capitol or not, there's no denying the fact that the skyline of Panem was beautiful in the glow of the moon.

Suna's words are still fresh in his mind, and so are Kita's. He wonders what came up in Suna's mind for him to have come up with such a plan. But if it could possibly save their lives, he'll take it. He's desperate, he'll take _anything_ at this point.

Looking up at the night sky, he wonders if Atsumu and Nene, too, are staring up at the same sky at the same moment too.

Back in the days of their youth, when Nene was only able to say a word or two, when Kita still had the glow in his eyes, he and Atsumu always snuck their baby sister out to go stargazing on the hill, pointing out various constellations which were visible on the blanket of blue.

Suna would join too, taking part in their shenanigans no matter how crazy or stupid they were.

Suna.

His best friend since the age of five. They'd met when Osamu was visiting the Hob with Kita, and he saw a little boy who looked roughly the same age as him, clutching onto his sister's sleeve as he stood close to her, practically glued to her hip. He hid behind her when Osamu's eyes met his, timidly peeking out from behind her to steal a glance at the apple Osamu was snacking on.

Mustering up enough courage, Osamu strayed a few feet away from Kita to approach the boy, offering the apple with a grin.

_"Wanna share?"_

The small interaction soon sparked a friendship which came to last till this day.

"So," Suna murmurs, breaking the silence once and for all. He meets Osamu's eyes, golden eyes flashing with defeat, "This is it."

Osamu lowers his eyes, "This is it."

"We're gonna enter the arena in a few hours."

"Yeah."

"This is probably the last time we'll get to talk to each other."

"...Yeah."

His friend chokes out a bitter chuckle, throat clogged with emotion. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep himself from tearing up, lips curled in a pained smile, "Damn."

Osamu, too, feels his eyes begin to sting with tears. He inhales shakily, "Damn indeed."

"Who would've thought, right 'Samu?" says Suna, running a hand through his messy hair. "One moment I was wondering about my future after Reaping age, in the next I'm here, a few hours away from entering a death match."

Osamu nods, unable to form words as he tried to keep his tears at bay. But he doesn't want to end this conversation on a tearful note, as difficult as that may be, he'll try to end it differently.

"... What do ya think it could've been?"

Suna looks up, slightly taken aback by the sudden question, but he purses his lips, looking away.

"I guess I would've enjoyed the feeling of being free from living in fear," Suna hums. "Maybe even work hard enough to save enough money for a better house, get a partner and all."

Osamu raises a brow, "No kids?"

Suna laughs, shaking his head, "Nah, too much work. Rather be free, you know? I've lived under stress for far too long already."

"That might change."

"Right."

Suna stares at him, studying his face in the moonlight as Osamu lets his eyes focus on the marble floor.

"What about you, 'Samu?" he questions, making his eyes snap up to look at him.

"Me?" Osamu muses. "Well, I definitely would've wanted to see Atsumu settle down, watch my sister grow up, watch her survive Reaping age... and maybe see her get married."

"No partner?"

"Nah," Osamu chuckles, something flashes in Suna's eyes.

His friend smirks, tilting his head, though it looks more like it was done to hide something, "Why not?"

Osamu blinks, trying to come up with a reasonable answer, which he fails in doing.

"I guess I... just haven't thought of it," he answers truthfully. "It's never crossed my mind before."

Suna stares at him for another moment, just one second longer, before looking away at long last, humming, "I see."

Faint noises of shouting and cheering coming from below can be heard, ruining their moment of silence. Osamu chuckles emotionlessly, "Listen to them." 

"Yeah," Suna mutters, mustering a tiny smile as he observes the commotion outside the penthouse, no doubt caused by Capitol citizens, who like them, are unable to sleep due to the Hunger Games starting at sunrise. But unlike them— an excited bunch, the tributes are filled with nothing but fear all over their bones. 

To the Capitol, the Hunger Games might just be an unimportant game meant for entertainment and to waste some money on tributes from the districts. To the tributes, this tournament of bloodshed might cost their lives. 

Even the smallest mistake would ruin everything. 

Suna's smile disappears like it was never there. "I just don't want them to change me." 

Osamu frowns at him, "How would they change ya?"

"I don't know," Suna shrugs, but his eyes are full of emotion. He looks at Osamu thoughtfully, "Change me into something I'm not. I don't want to be another piece in their game, y'know?" 

"Ya mean ya won't kill anyone?" 

"No." Suna shakes his head, "I most likely will. It'd be the same for anyone else when the time comes. I just want to think of a way to show them... that they don't own me." 

Suna heaves in a breath, glancing out the window. Despite the shine in his golden eyes that has not dulled since their childhood, not even when his family passed, he looks tired. "I mean, if I'm going to die, I still want to be me." he adds quietly. 

His friend lifts his head, and their eyes meet. "Does that make any sense?" Suna asks, his voice barely a whisper, yet Osamu hears him loud and clear. 

"Yeah," Osamu finds himself replying. "Of course." 

Suna nods. Silence fills the air, and he moves to slip off the windowsill. "I'll see you tomorrow," he murmurs. "Get some sleep before that." 

Osamu quirks an eyebrow, "Do ya really think I'd be able to get any sleep if I couldn't at all in the last few weeks?" 

"Luxurious beds are for sleeping on. Such a chance won't come again." 

"Yer ridiculous." Osamu chides, putting a hand over his own mouth to stifle his laughter. "See ya tomorrow, Rin." 

A smile grows on Suna's lips, a genuine one Osamu can see as clear as day even in the midst of darkness. 

|———|

"They'll put a bunch of stuff in the front, right at the mouth of the Cornucopia." Kita informs, "There'll be weapons. Don't go for them." 

Suna makes a face, "Why not?" 

"It's a bloodbath. They're trying to pull you in." Kita explains, "You turn around, run, and get to high ground. Look for water. Water is very important, got it?" 

Suna nods along, while Osamu is busy staring at the ground. He processes Kita's every word, but is unable to give any sort of reply. Kita doesn't press, he understands the feeling. 

"Make sure not to step off the pedestal early, or they'll blow you sky-high. Cheating won't work, okay? They've got cameras watching you at every angle." Kita says, looking more serious than they've ever seen him in the last few weeks they've arrived at the Capitol. 

"We won't." Suna answers, and Osamu tries to nod his head. 

The elevator stops moving, and the metal doors open. The three of them step out of it, hair billowing in the sudden gust of wind they're met with and the sight of a huge hovercraft before them, preparing to launch and transport them to the arena. 

Kita exhales a sigh, turning to face them. "Osamu-kun, Suna-kun..." he says softly, "You guys can do this." 

Osamu doesn't think he's ever seen Kita make such a face before. He doesn't look sad, but it's evident there's a flurry of emotions running wild in his head, his facial expression barely able to keep up. It's why most of the time, Kita has learned to simply keep a blank face. 

"Thanks," Osamu mutters, smiling at their mentor and former big brother figure. Kita reaches up, each hand patting both him and Suna on the cheek. 

The two of them turn around and walk towards the hovercraft, leaving Kita behind to stare at their figures before they finally disappear from his line of view. 

This could be the last time Kita ever sees them again. He should be full of regret if that ever happens, that even though he hasn't seen them in ten years, he still failed them as their mentor and former caregiver. 

Kita's grown numb. It's inevitable, considering he's seen this exact scenario happen with so many different kids many times before, and they've all met their demises and perished in the arena, dying on a projected screen and all Kita could do was watch as the light left their eyes.

But when he sees Suna and Osamu leave and board the hovercraft, Kita can't help but picture the backs of their child selves walking together, holding hands, and nearly stumbling over their own feet as they attempt sneaking off into the forest located near their district.

If they die— Kita is desperately hoping they won't, judging by the impressive skills they've shown in their training— he doesn't know if he'll be able to cope with it, because unlike the tributes he mentored in the last few years who were only strangers he met once in his life, he had a history with Suna and Osamu.

Kita had given up all hope when Suna's siblings died in the arena. He took on drinking and concealed all his emotions.

If anything is to happen to Osamu and Suna, it's only a matter of time before he breaks inside. 

When they enter the hovercraft, Osamu and Suna are instru8cted to sit down as the Capitol attendants complete all the procedures before taking off.

"Give me your hand," a female Capitol attendant tells Osamu. He looks up at her curiously, offering her his hand. "What's that?" he asks, noticing the syringe gun she's carrying, one she used with all the other tributes.

The attendant grabs his left arm with one of her gloved hands and injects something into it with the syringe gun. The process doesn't hurt, surprisingly. "It's your tracker," she explains briefly, before moving away to proceed with the remaining tributes who've yet to have their trackers inserted.

Once the attendants leave the aircraft starts beeping, shaking for a few seconds before it takes off, leaving the ground. During the entire transportation, the atmosphere with all twenty-four tributes is deadly silent. All of them know one thing in mind, and that's—

There can only be one winner, and twenty-three of them will be dead soon. 

The hovercraft lands. Osamu is separated from the other tributes, but he does steal a glance at Suna one last time before two Peacekeepers lead him away to his individual Launch Room. Osamu walks with his eyes focused on the lane straight ahead, barely having the heart to care about the various machines and the loud buzzing noise that keeps recurring in the room. 

A door opens, and he's pushed inside. Osamu huffs, but he's ultimately relieved the Peacekeepers are finally gone from sight. He felt uncomfortable with them constantly standing behind him, as if they're afraid he'd make a move to attack them when _they're_ the ones carrying huge dangerous guns.

He looks up, finding himself in a room covered in nothing but white tiles, and in the center stands Ojiro Aran, staring back at him with his hands clasped behind his back. 

"Hey," Aran says, smiling. Osamu chews on his lip to prevent himself from possibly tearing up. Aran takes the initiative to move first, approaching him to pat his shoulder comfortingly. One of his hands reaches up to ruffle his black hair, untangling some of the knots in it. 

The tiny gesture makes Osamu think of the first time they met.

Aran grabs a black jacket from a clothing rack in the room, removing the hanger, and helps Osamu put the jacket on. The stylist adjusts the sleeves for him, and Osamu looks down, eyes widening when Aran affixes the golden Mockingjay pin to his shirt.

"Shh," Aran shushes softly, placing a finger between his lips as he hides the Mockingjay pin under the jacket. 

Osamu's lip trembles a bit. "Thanks," he whispers, voice breaking. 

_"Thirty seconds,"_ a female automated voice announces as Aran zips up his jacket. Osamu turns, heart racing faster than it ever has. He's shaking all over, fear written all over his face and his palms are already covered in cold sweat.

Aran puts his hands on both Osamu's shoulders, snapping him out of his daze. "I'm not allowed to bet," he says firmly. "But if I could, I'd bet on you."

His determined voice overlaps Osamu's heavy breathing which fills the empty room. 

_"Twenty seconds,"_ the same voice says, and it sounds louder than before, filling Osamu's ears just as much as it fills the dread in his heart. He swallows the lump in his throat, taking a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. Time is running out, and he can't afford to enter the arena in a panicked state. 

He steps away from Aran, gaze falling on the human-sized glass tube in the corner. He looks back at Aran, gulping down his own saliva once more. 

_"Ten seconds,"_ he hears as he walks towards the tube, slowly stepping inside it. The tube suddenly closes once he's in, prompting Osamu to whirl around and look at Aran with wide eyes. Aran only nods as reassurance. 

The tube makes a whirring noise. Osamu places both hands against the glass as it starts moving upwards, transporting him out of the Launch Room and away from Aran. Osamu looks up, inhaling and exhaling as he mentally prepares himself for what's to come. 

_It's bright,_ is what he first thinks when he realizes he's out of the tube, and in the arena. 

He instinctively shields his face when a strong gust of wind greets him with the almost blinding light, sending a shudder down his spine at the sheer iciness of it. The telltale sounds of a waterfall fill his ears, along with the howling of the wind. 

Moving his hands away, his eyes blow wide at the arena he's standing in. They're standing around the Cornucopia, but further up is a massive waterfall looming over their heads like a giant.

He could see the massive cliffs which surround them from afar, cutting off every means of escape, because those cliffs are far too high to climb.

He could also see stone pillars shooting out from amongst the trees, stretching into the sky. They look as if they could be used as viewpoints, but one wrong step, and Osamu's sure he could plummet to his death. The sky is gloomy with gray clouds obscuring the bright blue, brewing with a storm Osamu could only hope isn't heavy.

His eyes roam over the tributes on their respective pedestals in search of a boy with golden eyes— until he sees him somewhere to his right, five pedestals away from his.

Suna holds his gaze, brilliant golden hues staring back into his stormy eyes with a reassuring gaze— it's always been Suna who comforted him, even before they came to the Capitol. Osamu wants to be able to do the same, because he could see the slightest hint of fear in those golden eyes.

"—25, 24, 23, 22—"

His head snaps to the front in surprise, not realizing the countdown has already begun. The robotic voice continues to count down, even if his mind keeps screaming for it to stop, to suddenly freeze, to disappear.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, letting his eyes focus on the Cornucopia. Osamu could see a backpack, along with a few other things lying on the ground not so far from his pedestal. He knows Kita said not to head for the Cornucopia, but he couldn't possibly survive without a few tools.

Up ahead, perched against a box, is a bow and a quiver filled with a generous amount of arrows. Osamu's heartbeat quickens at the sight of it, multiple thoughts running through his head. If he could get his hands on it, he'll be almost unstoppable.

Maybe his chances of winning this would even increase.

"—17, 16, 15, 14—"

His eyes move to look somewhere to his side, and his heart drops when he saw the man standing three pedestals to his right.

Unlike him, Terushima looks like he's just itching to jump off his pedestal, but everyone knows what would happen if he does. His eyes shine with a malice that makes Osamu's skin break out with goosebumps, the boy ultimately shutting down his idea because a sword is hung not so far away from the bow.

But not the backpack.

He watches as the numbers projected on the top of the Cornucopia continues to decrease, slowly making it's way down to single digits while Osamu's heart rate nearly reaches three digits.

"—5, 4, 3, 2—"

Every number is loud in his ears as it continues to go down, with Osamu's eyes never leaving the small backpack on the ground. He hopes Kita won't be too angry at him for disobeying him.

"—1."

A horn blares the moment it drops to one, and all tributes instantly jump off their pedestals, running off in their own directions. Multiple people head straight for the Cornucopia, while a few others decide to book it out of there, one of them being Suna.

Osamu comes to a skidding stop when he sees someone get tackled before a mace bashes their head in, spilling blood everywhere. More screams erupt all around him, their pained voices making his feet stay rooted to the ground.

He watches as a boy gets thrown onto the ground by one of the Careers— Shirabu— before he's brutally killed when Shirabu brings his machete down, the blade smashing through his skull and coating the steel with a shine of crimson.

Terushima slashes another boy in the stomach, spraying blood into the air as the boy drops in a heap afterward, the light leaving his eyes before he could've even screamed.

Osamu's eyes swipe over the area once more, the backpack he was aiming for yet to be taken by anyone else. Regaining control of his body, he dashes straight for it without a second thought other than the one currently occupying his mind at that very moment.

The longer he stays, the quicker he gets killed.

He snags it off the ground along with a sack right before someone crashes into him, the both of them tumbling onto the ground in a pile.

Osamu grunts, shoving them off when they tried to wrap their arms around his neck. Kita must be screaming at him right now. _Great going, ya fool._

Scrambling onto his feet, his hand finds his backpack and he slings it onto his shoulder, kicking away the tribute when he grabs onto his ankle. His eyes look up, watching as the only female Career hurls a knife at him, which he blocks with his backpack.

He takes off when she begins to run towards him, leaving the other tribute to be her victim while he makes his escape into the woods.

Just before he disappears behind the bushes, he hears a blood-curdling scream from behind. He doesn't look back and continues running as fast as he could.

Osamu's feet move on their own, taking him deeper into the forest before his mind could even let him plot a path on where to go. He shoves leaves and branches out of his face, boots crunching on twigs and moss as he dashes past the trees with trunks larger than he's ever seen in his life, larger than the ones back in his district.

 _This isn't just a normal forest,_ Osamu soon realizes, _it's a rainforest._

He continues running towards wherever this trail leads him, getting further from the chaos occurring at the Cornucopia and deeper into the rainforest. All he hears is the noises of the forest and his panting, the screams of those tributes who had been attacked no longer being heard.

Pushing past leaves and ducking under huge tree branches, Osamu makes a mistake and trips, yelping as he falls onto the ground and rolls down a small hill. He eventually lands on a pile of dry leaves, and with no time to waste, immediately pushes himself up and continues running at full speed.

Osamu slows down, looking around to ensure he's alone. Without letting his guard down he halts his footsteps, sitting down behind a few trees, and unzips the backpack he found. He pulls out some rope, which he raises his eyebrows at, putting it aside first to dig further. 

He finds a tube of water purifying tablets, which could be helpful, considering the multiple rivers and streams he saw in the arena behind the Cornucopia. Osamu would have to go back there later to pick up some stuff, and hopefully find a bow and arrow he could use.

There's some more stuff he finds inside the backpack, including a water bottle, which gets his hopes up until he realizes it's empty. He clicks his tongue, putting it away to pull out a box of matches when he hears a cannon boom in the distance, startling him. 

Realization dawns on him as the cannons continue booming. Osamu looks up, counting the numbers one by one in his head with a surprising amount of concentration. 

They stop at twelve. Twelve people are already dead.

Outside the forest in the Cornucopia where it all began, twelve corpses lay unmoving on the ground, drenched in a pool of their own blood and having heaved their last breaths.

Osamu tries not to spend time thinking about it. He packs his backpack, slings it over his shoulder and trudges off. He still remembers the training instructor's words, and if Osamu's going to die, he'd either die being murdered or from starvation and dehydration. 

He discovers a small stream in the rainforest and collects water, then gathers twigs and stones to start a fire. Hunting for food has become a hobby and a daily need for him back in his district, so hunting here in the arena isn't that a difficult task.

After he's done and the day is nearly coming to an end, Osamu climbs up a particularly large tree, fingers gripping tightly onto the branches and tree hollows for leverage. He gets onto the highest branch, long enough for his legs to rest on it.

He ties his waist around the branch with his rope, head laying against the tree trunk. He closes his eyes, though a bit hesitant— the constant paranoia would never go away for as long as he stays in this arena, but after scanning his surroundings for the nth time, he confirms he's alone.

Osamu is determined to get some sleep. It's already a miracle he wasn't instantly slaughtered at the Cornucopia when he disobeyed Kita's advice and didn't turn and run like Suna did, but he's still here, breathing and alive. That's what's most important.

With his eyes fluttering shut, Osamu is slowly falling asleep. 

A continuous mechanical whirring and clicking noise near his head prevents him from doing so. He opens his eyes, craning his neck to glare at the hole inside the tree trunk beside his head. He arches a brow, curious as he peers closer into it, eventually recognizing it as a camera the Gamemakers had installed in the arena to keep an eye on the tributes.

Within seconds he's done investigating the little gadget. Osamu sighs, arms crossed against his chest and drifts off to sleep.

When he jerks awake a few hours later, body instantaneously straightening in alarm as he carefully scans the area for any nearby tributes perhaps planning to kill him off, Osamu realizes the sky has already darkened. 

Inspirational music resembling Panem's national anthem starts playing in the distance. From where Osamu is sitting on the tree branch he gets a perfect view of the large hologram the Gamemakers have displayed up in the sky. He sees the Capitol's logo, along with the words 'The Fallen' underneath them, followed by the faces of those tributes who didn't survive past the first night.

First is one of the boys from District 10. He looks around Osamu's age, has short brown hair with his bangs messily swept to the side, and brown eyes. Osamu never spoke to him, and only recalls little of seeing him during training.

Next is from District 4, a boy who also looks about 16 or 17 years old with dark hair sticking straight up. Osamu had never interacted with him either, barely remembers him at all, but it still feels terrible to know this boy had been killed just hours ago.

The third tribute's face is a girl from District 9 with short black hair. Osamu had been mildly impressed by some of her skills during training. He saw her meet her demise when getting stabbed by a Career at the Cornucopia early today.

More faces are shown, some Osamu knows and the rest being strangers he never spared a glance at. There was a boy from District 3 who seemed only 12 years old, yet had been shown no mercy as well. Osamu felt saddened, but he already knew the boy wasn't going to last anyway.

A few districts are already out of the game now with both their tributes dead, including Districts 3, 5, 7, and 9. All the Careers are still alive, and from what Osamu had seen with his own eyes, had contributed to a major part of the kills today.

But what matters to him most is that Suna is alive. When the inspirational music had ended and the hologram disappeared, Osamu felt relief wash over him when Suna had not been one of the fallen tributes. Nor Yachi. 

The Capitol had made those twelve tributes' deaths seem like something that could be brushed off easily. Like they didn't just put a group of kids in an arena and order them to kill each other to survive and win a stupid game. 

They didn't ask for this. To be taken away by their families, to become a puppet of the Capitol and serve as their entertainment. It's _sick_.

But in such a situation where Osamu can do nothing about it but play along and hope for the best, he can only feel grateful he's still alive and okay. 

Osamu's attempt on going back to sleep is interrupted when he hears fire crackling and picks up the smell of something burning. He turns around, spotting a fire from afar. He scoffs. _A stupid move,_ he thinks, looking away.

Several minutes later he hears the sound of laughter, and an axe being thrown. Judging by the scream he hears in return, he suspects it most likely has hit its target. A cannon is fired just seconds after the scream fades back into silence, therefore confirming his suspicions. 

He exhales a soft sigh. That makes thirteen dead in the first eight hours. 

He's lucky he isn't one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here are the reference photos for the arena:  
> [reference 1](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://cache-graphicslib.viator.com/graphicslib/thumbs210x118/7878/SITours/private-tour-5-day-zhangjiajie-exploration-including-tianmen-mountain-in-zhangjiajie-291168.jpg&imgrefurl=https://www.viator.com/Zhangjiajie/d24683-ttd&h=118&w=210&tbnid=11M3i2bAvCM6OM&tbnh=118&tbnw=210&osm=1&hcb=1&usg=AI4_-kRhSMnw44qSMHFbYeitFrcHADfP-Q&ved=0ELLNBQgAKAAwAA&docid=wWdRbKrjkIuqYM&hcb=1)  
> [reference 2](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://t1.gstatic.com/images?q%3Dtbn:ANd9GcRUSxaiiKDbbDYCCxqjD3ZGu_S5dsLHsds64HODOLFk629MfOr9&imgrefurl=https://www.shutterstock.com/fi/video/clip-30663571-4k-time-lapse-zhangjiajie-national-park-sunset&h=270&w=480&tbnid=RXcAo7hhygI3tM&tbnh=168&tbnw=300&osm=1&hcb=1&usg=AI4_-kQCGjuf2Nvng9Mf_IM45Ok10fZOzw&ved=0ELLNBQgAKAAwAA&docid=IHsAuXz3pSP5FM&hcb=1)  
> [reference 3](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bp0I3eCkYQA/XPFbuLKBvlI/AAAAAAAAGF0/24FOHsQszrQrZRqI21ZTo3tt8kfI9yNpwCLcBGAs/s320/CIMG2294.jpg&imgrefurl=http://ekayasolutions.blogspot.com/&h=257&w=320&tbnid=Vb9EikGyfEgszM&tbnh=201&tbnw=251&osm=1&hcb=1&usg=AI4_-kRd1KRBUlx12vpi76AjXBsppa13qw&ved=0ELLNBQgAKAAwAA&docid=e7kcHkeuASUhLM&hcb=1)  
> [reference 4](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://t2.gstatic.com/images?q%3Dtbn:ANd9GcRWZhCLAHIIgRAKnjryNgBq2K2wJNeECPRQz-dPTHMXgDxVQ2A5&imgrefurl=https://imall.com/product/Dropshiping-Colomac-Wallpaper-Green-Waterfall-Fine-Water-Long-Flowing-Wall-Murals-for-Bedroom-Walls-Papel-Mural-3d/Home-Improvement-Painting-Supplies-Treatments/aliexpress.com/32995697432/144-54866304/en&h=230&w=350&tbnid=ruRaUg-VhLR_lM&tbnh=182&tbnw=277&osm=1&hcb=1&usg=AI4_-kRHTOkmuS-z-N6iC0_8omFbaDm4OQ&ved=0ELLNBQgAKAAwAA&docid=Gz_QxY4KdgEz8M&hcb=1)


	6. Chapter 6

Ever since he was little, Suna had always wondered what his future has in store for him.

But now, Suna just wants to go back to his old, bright-eyed, child self. To be the boy who was now a ghost in his eyes, the boy who was still blind to the horrors of the world, the boy whose eyes still had that long lost shine of innocence with his only worries being a skinned knee or two.

He had been forced to grow up far too early, child-like innocence robbed from him when he witnessed Peacekeepers barging into his home to force his mother out. His tiny hands could only hold onto her skirt before a Peacekeeper ripped him off and threw him aside like a ragdoll.

Following them into the plaza, he watched as the Peacekeeper made his mother kneel on the wooden platform beside his father. His worst fears came true when he saw the pistol gripped tightly in a gloved hand being raised to his mother's head. His cries went ignored as his siblings held him back, his older brother holding his forearm with a tight grip.

His father, too, screamed. And that was all he could do, as he watched the Peacekeeper end his wife's life with a bang.

"This!" the Peacekeeper shouted to all the horrified citizens, pointing at his mother's corpse as she laid unmoving on the stone platform, where tomorrow's Reaping would commence. "This is what happens when you try to rebel against the Capitol! Mark this very moment in your heads, unless you want to end up like this pitiful woman!"

Suna felt bile rising in his throat, his bottom lip quivering as he stared at the woman who was still alive just a few minutes ago, in their home, smiling down at him as she brushed away some hair on his forehead.

The same woman who woke him up this morning, the same woman who held his hand as he took his first steps, the same woman who he called Mom.

He barely had time to register what just happened when the Peacekeeper turns on his heel, walking over to his father who had his head hung low, tears dripping onto the ground from his face.

The Peacekeeper raised his pistol at him, uncaring of the blood pooling around Suna's mother's dead body beginning to dirty his shoes. He sneered down at the man, looking almost sadistic with the crazed grin on his lips as if he enjoyed the sensation of executing innocent people. The way he held the gun so firmly with no sign of wavering clearly showed he had done this over more than a couple of times.

Suna's brother or sister, he couldn't recall who, forcefully pulled him away, refusing to let him see what would unfold next as if Suna didn't already know. 

The trigger was pulled, the sound of it causing blood to roar in Suna's ears. His sibling's grip on him tightened when he started squirming and thrashing, not allowing him to even get a glimpse of what was happening, but he heard his father's body drop onto the ground loud and clear.

There was no need for any explanation. Suna may have been only 7 years old, but he understands what just happened. A public execution by the Peacekeepers only occurred to those who defy the Capitol and disobey the president. 

"Let this—" the Peacekeeper jerked his head towards Suna's parents laying lifelessly behind him, covered in their own blood. "be a reminder to all of you. Disrespect the Capitol, and you'll pay the price. Just like this unlucky, pitiful couple right here."

The silent crowd eventually left the scene, scrambling back to their houses or the coalmines to continue with their work after being forced to witness the execution. The Peacekeepers dragged their parents' corpses away, leaving a trail of their drying blood on the ground. 

Suna remembers crying in his brother's arms. He may have been a child, but death is something that's been drilled into his head from a young age, but he's never thought it'd happen to his own family— to people he cares about. 

Mourning their parents' death was like walking through fire. It burned. It hurt. It left not one, but multiple nasty scars. 

He didn't see anyone else besides his siblings for days. Not Kita, not the Miya siblings, and not even his closest friend Osamu. He suspected they already found out what happened. Even if they weren't there to see the execution, his siblings must've at least told Kita. He and Suna's elder siblings were quite close.

Four years passed. Ryutaro was Reaped for the 68th Hunger Games. Suna watched everything with Rieko, Osamu, and Atsumu on the television screen. 

He also saw Ryutaro lose his grip on reality and willingly fell to his death. 

Life seemed to despise Suna Rintarou when only a year after Ryutaro died, Rieko was Reaped for the 69th Hunger Games. His sister and remaining family member was then taken away from him, and the moment bitterly reminded Suna of his brother departing to the Capitol a year prior.

Rieko was too kind, and Suna knew that. That's why he wasn't surprised when she was betrayed and had her throat slit by a tribute she tried to help in the arena.

Grief was a peculiar thing. Suna felt so helpless in the face of it, similar to how Osamu and Atsumu reacted when their mother died of childbirth fever. But in return they were gifted with their precious little sister, while Suna was left with no one but himself. 

He sometimes wonders if his family members leaving him one by one was a coincidence. The president, cruel as he is, was completely capable of that, after all.

He thought he could put all the grief and pain behind him when he turned 18 and could almost finally escape the Reaping each year, but nothing ever seems to want to go his way. Like his beloved brother and sister, Suna's future might just turn to dust, and his life would end right here in the arena.

Suna starts to somewhat see a pattern in his life. The misfortunate events throughout it always seemed to involve the Capitol and losing his loved ones. Coincidence or not, he isn't sure if he cares about that anymore.

But Miya Osamu, his best friend ever since they met when they were little children, is someone whom he knows he can't lose. He doesn't regret volunteering alongside Osamu, and the reasons are simple.

He wasn't lying when he told Osamu why on the train. Perhaps Suna's tired of helplessly watching his loved ones die through a projected screen.

|———|

Osamu dreads the morning. Thirteen tributes died yesterday, and that means eleven of them still remain, four of them including the Careers.

He may have a backpack filled with items in it, but Osamu has no weapons, and if he runs into the gang of Careers who he knows gathered a bunch of the weapons from the Cornucopia, he'd be in grave danger. 

A bow and arrow is all he needs. Even a knife will do, Osamu has managed to pull off throwing knives multiple times during their training, courtesy of Suna, who's surprisingly a good teacher, but the other male says it's just because Osamu's a fast learner. 

He walks through the rainforest, straining his ears for any sound of someone approaching, but all he hears are the leaves rustling and the waterfall flowing in the distance. 

There's no denying the Gamemakers designed a beautiful arena for this year's Hunger Games. Countless evergreen trees shoot up into the sky, along with various exotic plants growing on the grass. A stream nearby burbles as it travels along its bed, bubbling over rocks and branches, surrounded by huge stones covered in green moss. Not to mention those _huge_ stone pillars, something unlike Osamu has ever seen. 

He'd be enamoured by everything if it isn't the fact that there are other people out there waiting to kill him. 

Wondering how Suna is doing somewhere else in the arena, Osamu sighs, hands gripping the straps of his backpack. Suna can take care of hinself, but still, Osamu fears if anything misfortunate happened and he'd end up seeing Suna's face tonight when the Gamemakers would display the fallen tributes—

He hears footsteps and leaves crunching, snapping him out of his thoughts. Osamu spins around, eyes widening when he meets a pair of narrow light brown ones, belonging to a tribute from District 2. Slowly backing away, Osamu wills himself to calm down, internally cursing the gods above for his bad luck. Of all the tributes still alive, a Career just _had_ to stumble upon him. 

Shirabu looks at him, unwilling to back down from their intense stare-down. "Look what we have here," he muses, voice dripping with silent resentment yet obvious mockery. "Miya Osamu, Messenger of Inari." 

Osamu's eyes shift, spotting the bow and quiver filled with arrows on Shirabu's back. He glances around, slightly surprised to see that he's alone. Normally, all of the Careers would be sticking together, which is lucky for Osamu, considering his current circumstances.

He could only glare, not wanting to answer to the Career's taunts as he stood still, feet rooted to the ground as if he was shackled.

Back at the Cornucopia, Osamu witnessed Shirabu mercilessly use a machete to bash someone's skull in without any hint of remorse in his dull eyes. Even if he felt any remorse as he ended that tribute's life, it wasn't obvious and Osamu didn't sense it at all. 

Right now, the gaze Shirabu holds within his eyes tells Osamu one thing.

He has no qualms with killing Osamu either. 

Osamu's brain is yelling at him, screaming for his body to fucking _move._ He's defenseless, and Shirabu's the one with the bow. He's certain Atsumu and Nene, who are likely watching this interaction unfold back in District 12 are doing the same, shouting for him to do something and not get _killed_.

Not wanting to disappoint his family, Kita, his district, _Suna_ — Osamu turns around and _runs_.

Given that this year's arena is designed as a tropical rainforest and not just a normal forest, the weather is always humid. The air is cold, moist and damp, and Osamu was nearly shivering trying to sleep on a tree last night, but making a fire would attract unwanted attention, and like what he saw happen to an unlucky tribute, you get murdered.

Then he'd be out of the game, and that's the _last_ thing he wants. 

"You're not getting away, lover boy!" 

Osamu grunts, grabbing hold of a rubber tree's branch before letting it go just in time for it to hit Shirabu in his face, earning an enraged yell from the tribute. He hopes it could deter him long enough for him to make his escape.

The arena is vast, Osamu has probably ventured a good two kilometers into it but has yet to reach the end of this rainforest even after a day. The cliffs still look so far away, as if they are unreachable.

Pushing away palm leaves, the sound of rushing water invades his ears and his eyes widen in shock when he nearly stumbles into a river. The clear water looks inviting, but the rapid currents don't. He gulps, knowing that if he hadn't stopped in time, those currents would've swallowed him whole.

His ears perk up at the fast approaching footsteps and he swiftly turns around, meeting Shirabu's eyes again as he steps out from the leaves, a predatory grin etched onto his face.

"What's the matter?" he raises a brow, brandishing a bloodstained machete. The same one he used to kill that boy yesterday, Osamu notes with cold sweat dribbling down his neck. "Nowhere else to go?"

Shirabu takes a step towards him, Osamu takes a step back, getting dangerously close to the river rapids while the other is getting dangerously close to him. His eyes shift from one place to another, searching for something that could be used to win this fight, even if it's already obvious who's on the losing side.

"Give it up, Twelve," his eyes snap back to the other tribute, narrowing. Shirabu's eyes flash with excitement, machete raised into the air. "You're not going to win this!"

Osamu drops down, grabbing a handful of dirt and throwing it directly into Shirabu's eyes. The other man screams, stumbling back in shock as he claws at his face in an attempt to get rid of the dust in his eyes.

Not wasting a second, Osamu jumps to his feet, seizing Shirabu's wrist and twisting it to make him drop his machete before kicking it far away. He catches Shirabu's free hand, stopping him from landing a punch on his face.

Shirabu grunts, reeling his head back before connecting it with Osamu's, sending a wave of pain down his body.

Both of them stumble back with similar sounds of pain, Osamu hissing as stars appear in his vision. He blinks them away just in time to see Shirabu running towards him. Quickly side-stepping at the last moment, he's able to avoid colliding with the other tribute.

Shirabu growls, immediately pivoting on his heel and taking out a secret knife Osamu hadn't noticed was tucked into his belt. A strangled cry escapes his lips when the blade makes a horizontal slash on his arm, spraying blood into the air.

The other man takes this moment to tackle him onto the ground. Osamu grunts, enduring the pain as he tries to push Shirabu off, using his fingers to poke Shirabu's eyes.

It earns him another scream, and Osamu summons all his strength to shove him off his body, but Shirabu grabs onto his shirt as he rolls onto the ground. Osamu hisses, grabbing the strap of Shirabu's quiver to try and choke him with it.

Shirabu stops him, not sparing the quiver another glance as he rips the strap out of Osamu's grasp before tossing it aside, spilling the arrows onto the ground. Osamu grits his teeth, this time grabbing onto his bow and using it to pull him off when it catches onto his arm.

The Career lets out a frustrated growl, shrugging his bow off before pouncing onto Osamu again. They struggle for control on the ground, until Shirabu hoists himself onto his body and pins his arm down with a foot whilst using an arm for another, finally ending the battle.

Osamu sucks in a deep breath when he feels something thin and cold being pressed against his neck, glaring up into Shirabu's merciless eyes which glints with malice.

"Thought you could escape, huh?" his eyes are still red from when Osamu threw dirt into them. Shirabu leans down, pressing the blade harder against Osamu's skin as he sneers, "I'm going to enjoy skinning you."

Suddenly, Shirabu's eyes widen with pain before a scream tears out of his throat. He throws himself off Osamu before he himself could've done it, leaving him to watch as he drops his knife in a frantic attempt to reach behind his back.

A mop of blonde hair appears over his shoulder, Osamu's own eyes widening at the sight of Yachi hanging onto Shirabu's back for dear life as he flails around. He scrambles to get up, not realizing that the pain on his wound has turned numb.

Shirabu finally manages to grab hold of Yachi's shirt and he flings her off, harshly throwing her onto the ground. He reaches back, pulling out a knife from his back with a pained gasp, stained with his own blood. 

He averts his attention to the smaller tribute, anger flashing in his eyes, "You little bit—"

Osamu knocks into him, shoving him against a tree. Shirabu yelps, recoiling from the pain with a hiss as the knife falls from his hand. The former doesn't miss a beat, grabbing him by his shirt before throwing him aside like a useless ragdoll.

The other rolls dangerously close to the rushing rapids, laying limply on the ground as he tries to catch his breath.

Osamu's vision doubles and blurs at the edges, his mind playing tricks on him when he sees two of Shirabu in front of him. He flexes his fingers, suddenly feeling as if he could collapse at any moment.

_What the hell?_

"It's the poison from my knife," Shirabu grits out, still managing to give him a grin. "You're going to be out cold soon and I'll get to finish the job."

Osamu swallows, willing himself to stay focused. He glares down at Shirabu, making sure to shield Yachi away from him with his body. "Like hell ya will," he growls.

The two, or rather, the three of them freeze when the ground rumbles underneath them. Osamu's ears strain upon hearing the sound of trees creaking, and he averts his eyes towards the river which has changed from clear to a muddy brown, the water beginning to overflow from the riverbed.

From afar, he could see a massive current rushing towards them at record speed. He feels someone tugging on his sleeve and barely registers Yachi screaming as she hurries to pull him up onto higher ground.

His eyes catch sight of the bow and quiver discarded on the ground, left to be swept away by the approaching wave.

With his last ounce of rationality, he snatches them off the ground before he stumbles onto the hill with the help of Yachi. He can't help but look back when he hearss a yelp from the other tribute.

Shirabu scrambles to get up but his foot slips on a particularly slippery rock, resulting in him falling onto the ground. He looks back at the approaching wall of water, eyes growing big with fear when it suddenly appears closer than it did.

"N-No, wait!" he cries out, desperately clawing at the ground. "Wait, please!"

He meets Osamu's eyes, brown hues swirling with fear and desperation, the excitement and malice in them from moments ago nowhere to be seen. Instead of a fearsome Career tribute, all Osamu sees right now is just a helpless teenager, wanting nothing else but to live.

_Where was the man who wanted to end his life earlier?_

All he sees now is a pitiful teenager who was roped into this tournament just like him. A teenager who was forced to dedicate his whole life to train for the Games, not allowing him to experience the things a child should've truly experienced. Instead of playing tag and getting skinned knees, it was throwing knives and getting painful cuts.

A teenager who never _wanted_ this.

"I don't want to die!"

Osamu could only watch as he screams, feet glued to the ground, the edges of his vision darknening. He could only watch as tears stream down Shirabu's cheeks, as frightened eyes stared into his— before the river swallows him whole, the current ripping him away like ripping a plaster off Osamu's skin.

A cannon sounds, and Osamu faints.

|———|

He hears it again and again. Shirabu's screaming as he desperately cried for help, begging for his life before he was swept away by the ruthless current. Osamu had been there, and witnessed Shirabu's last moments.

He felt Yachi pulling on his sleeve, dragging him away from the river. He felt the wound on his arm sting, the poison gradually effecting his system. His head pounded, the world was spinning rapidly, and his eyelids began to droop.

Shirabu screams again, this time louder, voice laced with so much pain and agony, and—

Osamu wakes up, breathing heavily, doused in cold sweat like it's a second layer of his skin. 

Blinking the sleepy haziness in his eyes, his heartbeat still racing fast from the nightmare he just woke up from. The image of Shirabu's paled face and screaming voice is gone, instantly washed away when he regains consciousness.

Slowly sitting up, Osamu is barely to hold back the wince that escapes his lips. The remnants of his headache are still lingering somewhere, but it's definitely a hundred times better than what he felt when he was on the verge of fainting. 

His eyes travel down, noticing the leaves covered around his injured arm, feeling cool against his skin. It soothes the pain, and he figures it works as some sort of a healing herb. 

Upon hearing the sound of leaves crunching, his eyes flicker up, managing to catch a flash of blonde before it disappears behind a tree.

Osamu blinks, the memories of Yachi's involvement in his fight with Shirabu slowly returning bit by bit as the image of Yachi stabbing a knife into Shirabu's back reappears in his mind for a brief moment.

He allows a sincere smile to paint his lips when she peeks out from behind the tree. "It's alright," he murmurs. "I'm not going to hurt ya."

Why would he? She saved him, and he's very much thankful for that, otherwise he would've been the one that the cannon blew for. That said, she's also responsible for pulling him to safety and treating his wounds, even when she didn't know him. 

So like hell is he going to backstab her.

Yachi hesitantly steps out from the protection of the tree, finally revealing herself to Osamu. He grins wider, and she returns it with a meek smile.

The sun is hidden behind thick clouds, sunlight stowed away just like yesterday. Osamu bristles as a breeze rustle the leaves along with his hair, pausing from the fruit he's snacking on to fill his empty stomach, given to him by Yachi.

It reminds him of the fruits he was able to enjoy eating during his time in the penthouse. Although it had only been a short while since he stepped into the arena, it already felt like an eternity has passed since then. 

But even so, sleeping on a tree proves to be better than sleeping on luxury mattresses since he's able to fall asleep so quickly. But it might've been because of his exhaustion from trekking around the arena all day too.

He wonders how Suna's faring, but that question will be answered later during the showcasing of the Fallen. For now, he could only hope his friend is still among the living.

His eyes fall back to Yachi, who's using her knife to peel away the skin of a mango. Looking down at his wound which is still in the middle of healing but already scabbed over, Osamu has one question occupying his mind.

"How long was I out?" he questions, earning Yachi's attention as she looks up.

"Two days," she answers quietly, avoiding his gaze. "I was starting to get worried."

Osamu smiles, chuckling, "Thank god I woke up then."

It successfully earns him a quiet giggle from the girl before they fall into silence.

Osamu looks up at the sky. The clouds have a slight orange tint to them, but the wind is as chilly as ever. For once, he's thankful the Capitol provided him with a jacket, though he believes most of the credit is owed to Aran. 

"Where are the rest of the Careers?" he asks her again, coincidentally meeting her eyes.

"They're camping by the Cornucopia," she responds, pausing briefly. "And your friend, I saw him by the river yesterday. He was getting water."

A sigh of relief unknowingly leaves his lips upon hearing the news, a small smile growing on his lips as he looks down at his fruit. "Thank god..." he whispers, lower lip quivering.

After finishing their food, Osamu helps Yachi up a tall tree moments before the arena plunges into darkness. They huddle for warmth on a sturdy branch and watch as the Fallen's faces get displayed in the sky.

His throat closes when Shirabu's face appears above him, the same brown hues he saw back at the riverbank staring into his just like how he did seconds before the water took him. His eyes were a different shade from his siblings, but it still reminds him of Atsumu and Nene's smiling faces.

Yachi peers up at him with a worried look, "Are you alright?" she asks nervously.

Glancing over at Yachi, Osamu looks at her thoughtfully, noting with a small smile how caring and observant she is. Her eyes are big and doe, colored in a light shade of brown, almost looking amber under the moonlight. A contrast to the dark brown hues belonging to Osamu's siblings.

Despite the two year age gap between Yachi and Nene, the blonde-haired girl still painfully reminds Osamu of his sister. Yachi's quite petite for her age, the top of her head barely reaching Osamu's shoulder, similar to Nene in terms of height. 

Appearances aside, judging by the fact that Yachi was caring enough to save his life and had been capable enough to keep both Osamu and herself alive in the duration of Osamu being unconscious, Osamu can deduce that she's sweet and quite clever. And according to their past interactions, also a little shy.

Tiny-sized, intelligent for her age, and overall a general sweetheart with a pretty smile. Too much of it reminds Osamu of Nene, which prompts him to wonder how she's coping back home with Atsumu.

"Miya-san?" Yachi speaks up, voice laced with concern and hesitance, seeing that Osamu isn't responding to her question. 

Instinctively, Osamu reaches a hand out to pat Yachi's head, gently ruffling her hair. Yachi yelps, her shoulders tensing for a few moments before she comes to a realization that Osamu won't hurt her, thus she relaxes, merely looking at him with a shy, uncertain smile.

"I'm fine," he assures, moving his hand away to rest on the branch as he lifts his head to admire the night sky, although it's not as pretty compared to when he's watching it with his siblings and Suna around him back home. Osamu closes his eyes, releasing a sigh. Everything is reminding him of his family, and all he wants is to return to them now.

"I just think I might be going a lil' crazy."

"Eh?" Yachi sounds like her jaw has just dropped, tone devoid of any sarcasm. Osamu looks at her, and she stares back with a genuinely shocked expression. "Really? Why is that?" 

Osamu couldn't help it. He lightly throws his head back, bangs falling in front of his eyes as he laughs, though it's muffled by the hand he uses to cover his mouth, in fear that anyone hears him. "Let's just say," he answers, smiling. "Everything here is makin' me think of what's back home, although this rainforest-like arena is _nothing_ like what's back in District 12, believe me. It's dark and gloomy there, but it's still home."

Yachi blinks a few times. "Are you homesick then? Do you miss your family?" 

Osamu hums in agreement, lowering his gaze to stare at the ground below him. A bed of grass, with plants, twigs, and branches scattered around it. 

"Well," Yachi follows his eyes, "I don't think that's weird, or crazy. I miss District 11 and my mother too. She's a victor and my mentor, so she has high expectations for me." 

"Well, yer still alive, aren't ya?" 

"It's a miracle I managed to survive so long," Yachi mutters, rubbing her arm. "I can't fight well, and three of the Careers are still alive. I'll probably die soon." 

Osamu feels himself frown. "Don't say that," he says. "Ya worked hard in the training. Ya even stole Terushima's knife and he didn't even see ya."

Yachi's face flushes red. "That wasn't my idea!" she quickly denies, looking embarrassed as she rubs her nape. "Tsukishima told me to do it. He said it could 'hone my stealth skills' and 'that ignorant blockhead wouldn't even notice anyway'." 

Osamu snorts. "I see." 

Silence fills the air. Yachi looks down at her lap, anxiously fiddling with her fingers and picking at her nails. 

"Yachi." she makes a surprised noise, shoulders going rigid. Osamu holds back laughter and instead schools his expression into a serious one, although the girl still refuses to look directly at him, shrinking in on herself to make her frame look even smaller than it already is. 

"Look," Osamu says softly. "Ya want to make yer mother proud and happy, then go back home, right?" 

Yachi slowly nods her head. 

"There's a possibility ya could win this, y'know." he adds. "Ya just have to trust that ya can live until the end." 

Osamu looks away a millisecond before Yachi glances at him, therefore missing the surprised face Yachi makes and the amazed twinkle in her eyes. 

"Get some sleep," Osamu advises. "It's another day tomorrow."

He isn't sure if Yachi even hears him, because he's yawning mid-sentence and his own eyelids are gradually fluttering close as sleep threatens to take over. 

_It's another day tomorrow,_ his own words repeat to him in his head as he's on the verge of falling asleep.

Osamu's unsure of what or who he'll see in his dreams tonight. Maybe Atsumu and Nene, or even Suna. Perhaps even the haunting images of Shirabu's death replaying again in his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little filler of suna's backstory + sorry shirabu, but you're a career so you had to go
> 
> talk to us on our twitter accs! @zhonglisbroke & @uselessentity_


	7. Chapter 7

"How is he?"

Alisa looks away from the projected screen which displayed ongoing footage of the Games, letting her tired eyes fall on Aran's figure as he walks into the living room. She gives a half-hearted smile, "Be more specific, I have three boys to worry about here."

Aran simply laughs, sitting down next to her. But it's short-lived when his laughter dies down for his face to be replaced with a somber look, "Did he wake up yet?"

"... No," she answers quietly. "It's the first one in weeks, I kind of forgot how long he would sleep after having one of them."

"Well, he hasn't been sleeping properly," Aran murmurs. "His body wants to get its rest so it shuts down at the given opportunity."

Alisa lowers her eyes, her bright smile nowhere to be seen. Her unhappy face feels out of place, but Aran doesn't blame her, there's nothing to be happy much since the Games began.

"It was foolish of me to think they'd gone away for good when Osamu-kun and Suna-kun came," she bites her lower lip, despite knowing she might ruin her lipstick. "Things seemed better with them here."

Aran nods, wordlessly agreeing with her. Ever since they departed for the arena, the dining table is much less livelier, much more quiet and empty. It's a given because two key people are missing from their seats, and although Kita didn't join much before, his presence at the dining table has been reduced to almost never.

They'd be lucky if he stayed for thirty minutes to finish his food and leave before dessert.

Even with Alisa trying to lift the mood, having only two people present at dinner isn't really helpful for her. And besides, there's only so much a woman can do when she herself is in low spirits.

"You know he smiled a total of twelve times over the past two weeks?" Alisa chuckles weakly. "We were lucky to get a wry smile out of him when he was tipsy, but he's smiled so many times for those boys."

Though their time together was short, it was obvious that everyone bonded with the two from District 12. They were an odd and different pair, two boys who cherished each other as much as the other does, managing to receive and provide comfort to one another no matter the circumstances.

After all, Aran was there when Suna comforted Osamu moments before their interviews. One could even call it a first-class seat.

Whether their relationship is platonic or not, it's definitely an intimate one.

"Kita, you're awake."

Alisa's relieved voice brings him out of his thoughts. He turns, looking at the man who half-stumbles into the room, hand massaging his temples. The pinch in his brows indicates that he is definitely bothered by something, and Aran could only guess it's the side-effect of the drugs.

"How are you feeling?" Alisa asks him— even if she already knows the answer— as she gets off the couch to fetch a plate of food that wouldn't be too heavy for his stomach while Aran makes some space for him to sit between them.

He sighs, slowly sitting down on the couch while trying to not move his head much, lest he wants to increase the pain of his pounding headache. "Horrible," he croaks out, finally opening his eyes. At least those eyebags of his are gone.

Aran knows the first thing he wouldn't want to see is probably the Games as it goes on, but perhaps the gods decided to show some mercy by letting Osamu's face get displayed on screen at that very moment.

The boy is currently sleeping on a tree branch, the light from the faux moonlight illuminating his profile. Tucked close to his side is a girl roughly the age of 14, Aran recalls her to be the one who dragged him to safety after he had passed out from the poison invading his body.

Kita's eyes visibly shine with relief, and Aran finds himself smiling at that.

"He woke up a couple of hours ago," Alisa speaks up, handing a plate with onigiri to him. "Now, eat up. You were sleeping for twenty-three hours."

Kita does so without any complaints. His stomach has been digesting nothing for nearly an entire day after all.

He downs his medicine with a glass of water, and sits still, waiting for the pill to take effect and wash away his headache. When the pounding pain has numbed to nothing, he finally speaks again.

"What about Suna-kun?" he questions.

"Well, he's doing a fantastic job of staying out of sight," Aran chuckles, looking back up at the screen which now displayed the Careers sitting around a campfire near the Cornucopia, laughing among themselves. Though, one of them is missing, and his district partner doesn't look too lively about it.

Sometimes, Aran forgets the fact that those bloodthirsty killers are just teenagers. Nobody can't blame him though, the Careers are the top contributors to the bloodbath.

But as he watches the surviving tribute from District 2 not join in with their banter, he feels a pang of pity shoot through his heart.

|———|

"This green stuff is gonna smoke like crazy, so as soon as ya light it, move onto the next fire," Osamu explains their plan to lure the Careers away from the Cornucopia, a few dead branches in his arms to add to the pile. Yachi tails after him, carrying a few more.

Osamu lightly jerks his head towards one of the piles of branches and twigs, adding, "Light this one last, and I'll meet ya back over there."

Yachi nods, watching Osamu put down the branches, adjusting them in a pile fit to make a fire. "Here, let me." he offers, taking the twigs and branches from Yachi's hold.

After he's done, Osamu stands up, brushing off the dirt on his pants as he turns to face Yachi. "And then I'll destroy their stuff while they're chasing us."

The girl nods her head again. She bites on her bottom lip, seemingly in thought. "We need a signal in case one of us gets held up," she suggests softly.

"Sure," Osamu shrugs. "What do ya have in mind?"

Yachi doesn't immediately respond. Instead, her eyes slowly shift from Osamu's face down onto the golden Mockingjay pin on his shirt, shimmering under the sunlight. "Watch this," she says, tipping her head upwards to look up at the tall trees. Osamu raises an eyebrow, intrigued, and follows her gaze.

The girl begins vocalizing a simple tune, and merely a few seconds later, they're returned with the sounds of birds chirping, singing along to her tune. Osamu's eyes widen. "Mockingjays," he states, amazed. "There are Mockingjays in this rainforest. That's great."

"Back home, we use them to signal all the time," Yachi explains briefly. She allows a small smile to grace her lips, evidently happy that despite her current situation, at least something reminds her of home. She glances at Osamu, an expectant look on her face. "Can you try?"

Osamu looks up at the trees and the sunlight slipping through the leaves, whistling the short tune Yachi had just sang. The Mockingjays repeat the tune once again, eliciting another amazed expression from him, and for a grin to form on his lips.

"Do you sing, Miya-san?" 

Slightly taken aback, Osamu ceases his amazement with the Mockingjays and looks over at the girl with surprise evident on his face. "Why do ya ask?" 

"Just curious," Yachi responds. Her eyes suddenly go wide, waving her hands in protest, "I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want to—" 

"I do," Osamu cuts her off, laughing. Sometimes, Yachi's tendency to overthink the most random and smallest things somewhat amuses him. "My twin brother and I sing lullabies to our little sister. She said she likes my singing." 

"You have a little sister?" 

"Yeah," Osamu smiles, "She's two years younger than ya." 

Yachi gasps. "So that's why you baby me so much!" 

Osamu shrugs his shoulders. "Probably." he suppresses a grin, turning back around to move some branches on the pile here and there, thinking of their plan to destroy the Careers' stuff at the Cornucopia. They'd lure the Careers away first with a distraction, then Osamu would find a way to destroy it all to bits. 

"I'd love to hear you sing sometime," Yachi suddenly blurts behind him. 

Osamu glances at Yachi, and the younger girl covers her mouth, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "What was that?" Osamu asks on purpose, utterly amused as Yachi refuses to meet his gaze, pretending to be interested with the pile of dead branches on the ground.

The smile fades from Osamu's face like it was never there when he's painfully reminded of their task at hand. He steps closer, slightly bending down to be eye-level with Yachi, and pats her head, similar to what'd he do when he's consoling his sister. "Hey," he says, "We'll be okay."

This time, Yachi does not flinch at the physical contact. She hesitantly lifts her head, big hazel eyes locking with Osamu's stormy gray ones. 

Osamu manages a smile, eyes crinkling. "I'll see ya for supper."

"Okay," Yachi murmurs. Osamu's hand lingers on the top of her head for a few more seconds before he gently ruffles her hair again, a habit he'd picked up from when he's doting Nene. 

When Osamu retreats his hand, his gaze stays on Yachi for a while, sighing softly. He grabs his bow and quiver, leaving to depart to the Cornucopia. The weapon used to belong to Shirabu before he died, which Yachi had picked up for Osamu when he passed out. 

Thinking back, he truly does owe Yachi a lot. His life— which she saved without thinking twice— a dangerous thing to do, considering you never know when you'll get betrayed, and your kind-heartedness will only lead to your demise. But Yachi is young, and she deserves more than to die a senseless death where she will either be remembered as one of the many who died in the Games, or won't be remembered at all.

The bow is something Yachi need not picked up for him. It would've just been extra weight, adding up with Osamu's unconscious body. But she did, and that's how Osamu has his hands on the weapon right now, something he's had his eye on even before he jumped off the pedestal at the beginning of the Games.

Even if Yachi dies— maybe killed by a Career, a tribute from another district, or from a misfortunate accident, Osamu at least wants to preserve this girl's innocence and pure soul, something Yachi possesses that Osamu would never be able to compare with. 

|———|

When Osamu returns to the Cornucopia, he first spots all of the supplies including food, water, and weapons piled up in a large pyramid at the center, while the three remaining Careers along with a boy from another district they've made an alliance with are sitting not too far away. Osamu makes sure not to make a single sound, silently crouching behind bushes and plants to observe them from afar without being seen.

"Hey! Look over there!" Terushima shouts, rising from his chair to point at the smoke in the air a distance away, somewhere in the midst of the trees. The Careers immediately grab their weapons and get up, looking excited about finding new prey to hunt down and slaughter. 

"You," Terushima says to the boy from the other district. "Stay here and keep watch. We'll be right back."

The boy nods frantically at the stern instructions. Terushima follows the other Careers, running off in the direction of the smoke, part of the plan Osamu and Yachi had come up with it to distract them and destroy their stuff.

Once the Careers have disappeared behind the trees, Osamu shifts his focus onto their pile of stuff they've gathered. Surrounding the pyramid-like pile on the ground are several holes, as if someone had dug it up and buried something under it. 

Osamu isn't dumb. It doesn't take long for him to realize that it's a trap, and stepping near the Careers' pile of goodies would mean death. 

Abruptly, someone runs out from the trees. Osamu blinks, watching in surprise as the male tribute from Yachi's district, a tall bespectacled boy named Tsukishima approach the Cornucopia with no hesitation, jumping in certain areas and expertly avoiding a few spots, somehow having cracked the code to the trap. 

The boy with the task of keeping watch has yet to notice him. Tsukishima hurriedly grabs a backpack from the pile, slinging it over his shoulder and runs back into the trees, which seems to have caught the boy's attention. 

He grabs a spear, disobeying Terushima's words and runs after Tsukishima, leaving the Cornucopia and all the stuff unguarded.

With no one around, Osamu decides to make a move and finish their plan. He pulls out an arrow from his quiver, holding his bow up and resting the arrow on the grip. He concentrates on a bag of fruits sitting on the pile of stuff. He exhales a breath, then lets the arrow propel towards his target. It hits the top of the bag.

Looking around to ensure he's alone, Osamu steps forward and out into the open. Pulling out another arrow, he rests it on the grip of his bow, slowly pulling it back, gray eyes narrowed in concentration at the direction where his arrow is pointed, and his target. He exhales again, this time sharper. 

Then he lets go. 

It hits exactly where he wants it to, as his arrow causes the bag to rip, fruits spilling out of the hole and tumbling down the pile, hitting the areas where the traps are buried under.

It immediately sets off a bunch of bombs, destroying all the stuff and causing a huge explosion. Osamu flies backward from the force, hitting the ground. He isn't injured from the explosions, but he can hear high-pitched ringing in his ears. 

Through Osamu's blurry vision, he sees the boy ordered to stay and keep watch return, looking unsuccessful in his quest to kill Tsukishima, judging by the fact his spear isn't stained with fresh blood. The Careers are also back, obviously having heard the explosion and are looking very much upset.

"What the hell happened?" Terushima growls at the boy, who's taking steps back away from him, fear written all over his face, stutters dripping from his mouth like syrup. 

"I-I don't know, I just— I don't know what happened—"

Terushima doesn't allow him to finish explaining, stepping forward and in his state of anger, twists the boy's neck with his bare hands. The boy instantly dies, body dropping in a heap with a soundless thud.

Frightened, Osamu picks up his bow, turning around to run into the forest, nearly stumbling once or twice. 

When he's far from the Cornucopia and deep into the forest again, Osamu slows down, looking up at the sky and whistles the tune Yachi taught him. The Mockingjays repeat the tune, and Osamu looks around, but sees no sign of Yachi. 

He whistles again, walking further as the Mockingjays chirp the tune once more. 

When Osamu arrives at the spot they've agreed to meet up again, Yachi is still nowhere to be seen. 

It sparks a feeling of panic within him. 

_"Miya-san!"_

Osamu jerks his head to the side of the sound, eyes wide. He recognizes the voice, the one belonging to Yachi, who's tone is filled with absolute fear. Before he knows it, his legs are moving on his own and starts running. 

Yachi screams his name again and again, desperately crying out for help. Osamu runs past a few trees, ducking branches and even jumping over a tiny stream, hearing the screams get louder and closer. 

He pushes past leaves, spotting Yachi on the ground, a net trap thrown on top of her, preventing her from escaping. Osamu rushes forward, shushing Yachi's cries as he pulls out his knife, cutting off the ropes connecting to the net. 

He quickly removes the net, pulling Yachi into his arms for a hug, the girl breathing shakily as she holds onto him. "It's okay," Osamu whispers, patting her back in attempt to comfort her. "Yer okay, yer okay. Everything's fine, see?"

Hearing footsteps behind him, Osamu lets go of Yachi, whirling around to see Hana, a Career from District 1, hurl a knife in their direction. Osamu wastes no time to pick up his bow and arrow, immediately firing it at Hana. 

The arrow strikes her right at the heart, killing her instantly. The life in Hana's eyes disappear, body now dropping lifelessly on the ground. 

That makes one more Career down. Osamu figures she must've split up with the rest. 

When Osamu turns around, he sees the red flowers blooming in the grass not too far away, one of the many wonders belonging to this beautiful, yet deadly arena. 

It's red, like the blood that once oozed out of the tributes who had died. Red like the blood he saw on Shirabu's machete. Red like the blood pooling around Hana's dead body. 

Red like the apples Osamu loved snacking on when he was a child, always fighting with Atsumu over them. Red like the simple silk ribbon he had once bought for Nene to tie in her hair. 

Red, like the blood soaking Yachi's shirt. 

Time seems to stop moving. Yachi looks at him, weakly lifting a hand to pull out the knife penetrated into her chest, before she crumples onto the ground.

"Yachi—" Osamu's eyes are wide, gently pulling Yachi up so her head could rest on his leg. He looks down at her shirt, now drenched in so much blood. He tries to stop it, but when he tries covering the wound to stop the bleeding, he sees Yachi's blood all over his palm, his hand begins trembling.

The blood that once flowed thick and scarlet throughout her veins are now clasped in his calloused fingers, dripping down his hand. 

Yachi's face has turned ghostly pale within minutes, and even with Osamu's efforts to stop the bleeding, she still looks on the verge of fainting. "M-Miya-san..."

"Hey, shh," Osamu consoles her softly. Yachi looks at him, hazel brown eyes staring up at the sky with half-opened eyelids, as if fighting to stay awake, but the world she sees before her continues to spin and her vision begins to blur.

Warm blood gushes out of the exposed wound on Yachi's chest, and it's all Osamu can focus on, the crimson liquid splattering over the ground and the lifeless expression now gracing Yachi's face. Even the flush in her pink cheeks are gone, replaced with a sickly, white pale.

"It's okay," Osamu foolishly whispers, repeating again and again, not knowing whether it was for reassuring himself or her. His lower lip quivers, and he nearly chokes on a sob, "It's okay—" 

A single tear forms in the corner of her eye, rolling down her cheek. Yachi's expression twists into a look of pain, chest lightly heaving up and down.

"Did you blow up the food?" she manages to ask, whispering through choked out breaths. 

"Yes," Osamu answers, attempting a small smile for her. "Every single bit of it." 

Yachi closes her eyes for a few seconds, and Osamu almost fears he'd lost her already, but she replies with a soft, "Good." 

She opens her eyes again, staring up at Osamu's. "I'm sorry," she whispers, spoken in a hoarse whimper. "You have to win."

She blinks, more tears rolling down her face. Her expression twists in pain. "It... hurts," 

Osamu looks down at her, biting on his lip so hard the skin almost tears and he tastes blood. He doesn't know what to say. What _can_ he say? This can't be fixed with a simple _you'll be okay_ or _it's gonna be fine_ —

"Can you sing?" Yachi suddenly requests, her voice breaking and eyes pleading. 

"Okay," Osamu hurriedly replies. "Of course."

He inhales a breath, cradling Yachi's head.

_"Deep in the meadow, under the willow."_

Yachi's gaze is trained on the sky, staring at the trees that stretch up into them and the Mockingjays that reside up there, flying and chirping among themselves. The pained expression on her face is gone, but she looks a bit scared. 

_"A bed of grass, a soft green pillow."_

Osamu sings the lullaby he and his brother sing for their sister, the one that Kita used to sing to her before he left, and the one that was once sung by their mother before she died. He tries his best for Yachi, even if he sniffles in between and his voice comes out weaker than anticipated. 

_"Lay down your head, and close your eyes."_

Yachi can no longer feel the pain from the wound in her chest. Her eyelids feel heavy, as if she's in for a really long nap. She wonders what that'll feel like.

The movement of Yachi's chest rising up and down slows. For a moment, it feels as if she has trouble breathing.

_"And when they open, the sun will rise."_

Osamu's voice fades, but Yachi feels somewhat at peace, thus she allows herself to finally close her eyes.

Leaning down, Osamu presses a kiss to Yachi's forehead. His body shakes, sniffling as he stares down at Yachi's unmoving figure.

She's gone.

A cannon booms in the distance. 

Tears well up in his eyes. It's silent, nothing but the breeze in the air and the noises of soft sobbing, which undoubtedly are coming from himself. He looks around, a tear escaping and rolling down his cheek. 

"I'm sorry," Osamu chokes out a whisper, a million thoughts running through his head. It's ironic, because just last night he was telling her that there was a possibility she could live and win this, yet his own words came back to stab at him and now she's died a senseless death. 

Is everyone at the Capitol watching this enjoying this? Seeing this as entertainment? Are the hosts of their show watching this moment on the screen right now, laughing at Yachi's death and mocking his grief and misery? 

Osamu leans forward to zip up Yachi's jacket. When he stares down at her face again, he can't help but feel like he owes her an apology he should've told her when she was still breathing, but an apology wouldn't even be enough anyway. Besides, he had to respect Yachi's last wish. 

After he gently moves Yachi's head off his leg and onto the grass, he feels frustration surge through him, combining with his grief and anger. He grabs an arrow, throwing it aside before holding his head in his hands, wanting to scream his lungs out but knowing he can't. Not right here, not right now. 

Osamu gathers a bunch of flowers, placing them around Yachi's body, even putting a few in her hands. He kisses her forehead one last time, before getting up and rising to his feet. His eyes linger on her peaceful face, it's as if she's just sleeping.

How he wishes she is. 

Grabbing his bow and quiver, Osamu turns around and walks away, his footsteps heavy. He wills himself not to look back, in case he'd start crying again. Even so, as Yachi inhaled her last breath in his arms, it felt like something within Osamu had cracked. 

He stops in his tracks, turning around. Osamu knows there are cameras everywhere, filming them from every corner and angle to spy at them. 

Osamu presses three fingers to his lips, raising them in the air. 

Surely, everyone could see him. Everyone in the districts, the citizens living in the Capitol, the Gamemakers, and even President Hinata. 

It's him telling them that Yachi was but a young and innocent child, and her death shouldn't be easily forgotten and forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed this chapter <3
> 
> this chapter is shorter than the others because one of us have online exams tomorrow, sorry about that!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw yeah our boi suna is back

Two cannons go off back-to-back. That makes six tributes left.

Suna bites his lower lip, worry pooling in his stomach as his mind gets clouded with thoughts of Osamu's wellbeing. It's been days since he last saw him, the last time he did was on day one at the Cornucopia, vividly recalling a pair of familiar gray hues peering at him with fear.

He shakes his head, forcing the thoughts out of his head. Now's not the time to be distracted unless he wants to get himself killed. He managed to survive this far, so like hell is he going to give up now and let them have an easy kill.

If anything, Suna wants to at least make it to the final three, but he also wants Osamu to survive long enough to get to that point too. However, he knows what will happen if the two of them _do_ make it that far.

 _There can only be one winner,_ Kita's voice replays in his mind, filling him with dread as he trudges through the rainforest.

The Hunger Games is a bloodbath. The idea is to kill, or be killed. Disobey this and the Gamemakers will personally see to your demise, either it be burned to death in a forest that abruptly burst into flames, or mauled by animals with teeth sharp enough to crunch human bones.

But Suna doesn't care about glory or victory. He never thought of that as important when all he sees content in life is to have his friends around him, continuing their days in bliss and peace. 

The reason he even volunteered was because of Osamu. He doesn't want to kill Osamu just to appease the Capitol, provide them entertainment and become their next slave for the rest of his life. Even if he does return to District 12 with the glory of being a victor, it's not like Atsumu and Nene would welcome him with open arms when he had just killed their brother.

He's pretty sure Osamu thinks the same as him. Osamu wouldn't want to kill him either. Unlike Suna, he's caring, albeit never really smiling or showing affection for anyone but people he holds dear to his heart, the boy has always had a heart too big for his own good. Suna couldn't help but worry about that. After all, it was the kindness his sister Rieko had that took her away from him.

But if things really do come down to just him and Osamu left—

Suna has pretty much already made up his mind on what he decides to do by then. 

He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears voices in the distance. In a blur, Suna's long gone from the place he was previously standing, now hiding behind trees and plants to eavesdrop on the conversation of the tributes nearby. He isn't scared if they might see him. In fact, he doubts they would. 

No one has ever been able to notice his presence when he chooses to keep himself hidden. Suna's even made sure to keep out of sight of the cameras installed by the Gamemakers in the arena, so the people watching the Games at home wouldn't get to see how he's doing.

He isn't too bothered by those people watching his every move per se, he just wants to mess with the Gamemakers and give them a bit of a headache attempting to find him.

"She's dead," someone says. Suna's ears perk up, peering out of his hiding spot just slightly to catch a glimpse. _It's the Careers,_ he realizes, his gaze falling on the female Career from District 1 laying lifelessly surrounded in a pool of blood, an arrow shot to her chest, right where her heart is located.

Standing in front of Hana's body is Semi Eita, the remaining tribute of District 2. His eyes are wide, staring down at the corpse on the ground in horror, eyes trained on the arrow pierced through her heart. His hands ball into fists.

Kneeling on the ground is Terushima Yuuji, holding Hana in his arms, uncharacteristically silent for once. 

"Don't fucking say that," Terushima grits through his teeth, lifting his head to send a murderous glare towards Semi, "Hana isn't... dead." 

His tone is full of denial. Denying the painful truth he sees before his eyes. 

Semi raises an eyebrow, "Terushima." he frowns deeply, but his friend is no longer paying attention to him, glancing back down at Hana, a hand reaching out to brush her cheek with the back of his knuckles. 

Hana's face is as pale as a corpse. The ghost of her last smile gone from Semi's memory. She was a nice girl, was what Semi recalls from interacting with her for the past few weeks. Someone who was strong, capable of independent. That was the image Semi had portrayed Misaki Hana, a Career from District 1 to be. 

He honestly didn't expect her to die so quickly. 

"The arrow," Semi speaks. He swallows a lump in his throat, staring down at the weapon that had taken Hana's life. He recognizes it. A certain boy with light brown hair used to carry a quiver full of those with a bow behind his back. "It was Shirabu's." 

Shirabu, his friend from District 2. He already died a few days ago. Semi didn't know why he felt so much grief when he found out. After all, if there was supposed to be only one victor to emerge from the Hunger Games, then another person's death shouldn't be too important, and it didn't matter anyway because he himself was still alive. 

But Semi cared for Shirabu. Shirabu cared for him. 

He didn't want his friend to die. 

And now, as Semi looks down at Terushima's unmoving form as he clings to Hana's lifeless corpse, he knows Terushima, the proud and obnoxious kid from District 1, is currently experiencing what Semi had went through the day Shirabu died. 

Terushima's expression changes for the first time in a whole minute of him wordlessly looking at Hana's face. He exhales a shaky sigh, leaning forward to close Hana's eyes. 

"Hana," he whispers, voice cracking. 

Semi looks around, but their surroundings are entirely empty except for the two of them. There are still tributes alive, and that means they couldn't linger here for too long. The Games has yet to be finished, which means there's still more blood to spill. 

"Terushima, we should—" 

"Semi," Terushima interrupts. The boy lays Hana back onto the ground, slowly rising to his feet. "Are there any other archers who are still alive?" 

"Well," Semi says, momentarily going through a mental list in his head. Most of them are already dead, but he remembers one. The black-haired boy who left an impression on everyone when he made a scene of volunteering for his brother at the Reaping. "There's Miya Osamu. Y'know, from Twelve." 

And there's _only_ him left who he remembers from training could use a bow well. 

Semi's eyes widen, gaze snapping back onto the arrow in Hana's heart. He already knows it belongs to Shirabu, which means Miya Osamu was the one who killed him, or at least stole his weapons when he died. 

When Terushima looks up to lock gazes with him, Semi nearly freezes and takes a step back. The look in Terushima's eyes are _intense,_ like he's radiating bloodlust, craving for revenge. But Semi can very much see the grief and pain hidden behind that pair of enraged, dangerous eyes. 

"I'm going to kill him," Terushima growls, staring down at his feet. "I'll tear him apart and rip that bastard to shreds. Make him _regret_ even thinking of—"

_For even thinking of taking Hana away._

Semi nods, "He couldn't have gone far, I'll go find Kunimi and we'll go search for him." he adds. The boy from District 4 is someone they formed an alliance with, and it's not like Kunimi could reject being allies with the Careers. "Terushima, you can stay here for a little while longer... alright?"

Terushima doesn't give him a verbal response. Semi takes that as a yes, before turning around and sprinting off to find Kunimi.

Meanwhile, Suna heard their entire conversation loud and clear.

And he's _boiling_ from rage.

It's not often Suna gets angry. Nothing really ticks him off, and he personally thinks getting mad and shouting in frustration would be a waste of his time and energy. Plus, it isn't a good look. He knows that experience from growing up with a temperamental being named Atsumu, and Osamu, who always gets emotional when provoked by his brother, which usually leads to fights. 

But Suna isn't Atsumu. He's different when he feels rage. 

Terushima Yuuji, the Career standing a few feet away for him, had just boldly declared that he'd personal see to Osamu's demise. And such an act— is enough to get Suna fuming, anger continuing to pulse through his veins. 

He's seeing red. 

Suna is almost never reckless. He's usually much more calculating, thinking before he does something so he won't have to deal with the consequences. 

But he isn't going to let Terushima just _go_ after what he just said. 

When Suna approaches him from behind, silent as ever, Terushima doesn't even notice him. It's probably because he's still occupied with quietly staring at Hana's face, lost in his thoughts and grief as he waits for Kunimi and Semi to return. 

Suna gladly takes the chance. He pulls out a knife— one he stole from a tribute who already died— aiming to slit Terushima's throat. 

The knife gets close enough to scrape the side of Terushima's neck, but it's not enough to kill him. Terushima reacts a few seconds quicker than Suna would've liked, which saves his life. The Career whirls around, a cut forming and a line of blood dripping from the fresh wound. He hurriedly moves out of the way, panting for breath as he tries to stop the bleeding with his hand. 

"It's you," Terushima breaths out, raising an eyebrow at Suna. "Mister lover boy from Twelve." 

Suna's irritation flares. There's now a distance between them, and he spins the knife in his hand, tempted to just hurl it at Terushima, but the Career stares at him, something in his eyes which makes Suna pause. 

Terushima even has the nerve to scoff a bit, "That's quite the scary face you're making. Not really fitting for someone who confessed he was in love with his tribute partner to the world." 

He picks up the sword he left on the ground, getting into fighting stance and pointing it at Suna. Suna's expression doesn't waver, a dark look clouds his eyes, an expression he doesn't often show. 

"You may have got a cut on me, but I'm the one with the sword. All you have is a knife." Terushima comments, "Not really a fair fight, I'd say." 

Terushima is the one with special experience from the academy at District 1. He's a trained fighting machine, and he practically grew up learning how to kill. Most would say Suna's the one trying to start a battle he would inevitably lose. 

Kita is probably scolding him from where he's watching this at the Capitol, not liking Suna's rash and reckless actions. 

"Your bloodlust is insane," Terushima says. "Even I'm a bit spooked, lover boy." 

In the next second, Suna disappears from his line of sight. 

"Good," he then hears Suna say, and the boy from District 12 is suddenly behind Terushima, about to stab him. 

Terushima, luckily for him, acts fast. He turns around in time, blocking the attack with his sword, which prevents Suna from embedding his knife into his back. 

"Why're you so mad at me, huh?" Terushima sneers. He tries stabbing Suna to end it all right now, but Suna's infuriatingly fast as well, dodging every attempt. "Is it because of the boy you like so much? That Miya guy?" 

Suna doesn't answer him, yet his eyes narrow, and his obvious killing intent seems to get even thicker than before. 

Terushima reads him perfectly. His fake grin twists into a dangerous glower, "I'm not resting until he _pays_ for it, so _get out of my way_. _"_

Suna isn't moving. 

The Career seems to get that. His grip on his sword tightens. 

At least they're on a mutual understanding— They both want to kill each other. 

The Capitol must be having the time of their lives watching this go on. Suna grits his teeth. He hates the thought of that. But it's either his life or Terushima's, and if Terushima is to win this fight, it's Osamu's next that will be in danger.

Spinning his knife, he flashes a taunting grin at the Career, "How about... no?"

In a flash, Suna is up in his face, the tip of his blade about to penetrate through his stomach. Terushima startles, jumping back when he realizes something is tugging on his back, causing his weight to shift. Suna pulls on the back of his shirt, using his momentum to bring him down.

He falls onto his back, the wind getting knocked out of his lungs. Opening his eyes, the first thing he sees is Suna bringing down his knife, the tip heading for his throat. He inches to the side, and it misses his neck by a milimeter.

Terushima's hand leaves his sword to come up and grab Suna's wrist before he could've driven his knife into his neck. The knife trembles just inches away from piercing into his throat, sharp tip glinting in the sunlight as they fight for power.

Suddenly, Suna spits onto his face, causing his eyes to automatically shut upon instinct. His grip on Suna's hand lessens a little and he could feel the tip poking against his skin. Summoning all of his strength, he shoves it off and pushes it to the side before ultimately letting go altogether, making Suna stab the ground again.

This time, he uses one hand to keep it in place while the other traveled down, finding the hilt of the small knive tucked away on his belt. The one last thing he received from Hana before her death.

Suna notices this and throws himself off Terushima a second too late. The Career drives his blade deep into his thigh, causing a pained yell to slip past his lips. He gasps and through his pain muddled mind and teary eyes, blindly swings his knife at Terushima.

The tip catches one of his eyes, eliciting a scream of agony from him before Suna reels his good leg back and kicks him in the chest, shoving him down onto the ground again as blood gushes down from his eye.

"Terushima!"

 _Fuck,_ Suna bites his lower lip, looking over his shoulder upon hearing Semi's distant voice yelling out for his ally. He has to get out of here, _now_. But with one leg possibly out of commission, how exactly is he going to do that?

He flinches when a pair of hands go under his arms, pulling him up onto his feet swiftly and making him hiss in pain when he moves his injured leg by the slightest bit.

"Get up, now's not the time to sit dumbly like that!" someone hisses in a low tone, making him sling his arm around their neck.

Upon looking to his side, his eyes catch sight of blonde hair and it clicks in Suna's mind of who this tribute is. That tall guy with spectacles from District 11.

They begin to move, and Suna has to bite his lower lip to the point he almost draws blood to keep himself from yelling out in pain, feeling his blood seep out of his wound and soak his clothes even more at every limping step he takes.

Delving deeper into the forest, he hears sounds of surprised shouts and Terushima's angered screams which slowly grow more and more distant the further they run. 

When Tsukishima deems they're far enough, Suna is finally given a chance to rest against a tree.

"You know, I was watching the whole time, and that was a pretty stupid thing to do," Tsukishima comments bluntly, staring down at him as Suna tries to assess his wound. "Running out to attack like that when all you had was a mere knife and he, a sword."

He sighs, deciding to keep the blade in for the timebeing, at least until he could find a first aid kit or something, as unlikely as it seems. "Yeah, yeah, no need to remind me. My mentor must already be screaming that at this moment." he huffs.

Tsukishima raises a brow, looking a bit amused. But he stays at where he stands, looking around the forest once more to make sure there's nobody approaching. When Suna looks up at him, he sees that Tsukishima has a sorrowful look on his face, brown eyes swirling with anger.

Deciding not to question it, he asks about something else instead. "... Why'd you help me?" he inquires quietly.

The tribute looks back at him with a cold gaze, "If you think I did it for you, you're wrong."

Suna makes a confused face, and Tsukishima holds his gaze, turning to face him fully. "I did it for Yachi," he answers solemnly.

Realizing that his somber tone most definitely has a reason behind it, Suna frowns. "Is she...?" he trails off, knowing that Tsukishima definitely gets how the rest of the question would go.

"... Yes," the taller tribute grits out. "I owe it to your friend for taking care of her for me, and I repaid it by saving you."

Suna keeps quiet, not knowing what to say in return to that. Tsukishima simply turns away, his back now facing him.

"You're far enough from them, but I doubt he won't be out and about searching for you some more. The sun is due to set soon," he says. "There's a river nearby, find it and clean your wound before infection sets in."

"... Thanks," Suna mutters. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

Tsukishima stays silent, clenching his fists. "Goodbye," and with that, he leaves, quickly disappearing into the forest.

Suna sighs, resting his head against the trunk of the tree as he takes a few minutes to catch his breath from all the running. Taking a deep breath, he braces himself for pain as he slowly rises to his feet, quietly wincing all the way.

He plants his hand onto the trunk, nails tearing off some of the bark, before he pushes himself off, heading off to find the river Tsukishima told him about.

|———|

"Don't kill Osamu," Kita persuades. "You'll just create a martyr."

"Well, it seems like we've already got one." Hasegawa spits.

"I hear those rumors out of District 11. This could get away from you."

Hasegawa stares back at Kita, resisting the urge to shout out in frustration, his patience already being tested by how blank and calm Kita's facial expression is. For some reason, it slightly annoys him.

He has a lot on his plate at the moment, and frankly, has no time to deal with this. "What do you want?" he sneers.

"You've got a lot of anger out there," Kita points out the obvious, referring to the source of Hasegawa's predicament— the riot currently breaking out in District 11 after one of its tributes died in the arena. "I know you know how to handle a mob. You've done it before. If you can't scare them, give them something to root for then."

"Such as?" Hasegawa asks dryly.

Kita makes a gesture with his hand. "Young love," he eventually answers Hasegawa's question.

As Hasegawa looks into Kita's brown eyes that seemingly bore into his soul, he decides to consider his suggestion.

He finds himself in a familiar garden some time later, with the most intimidating and cunning man he's ever met in his life standing beside him, tending to his roses. 

"So you like an underdog?" President Hinata asks. He doesn't look away from his rose bush.

"Everyone likes an underdog," Hasegawa quickly replies.

"I don't," the president says.

Hasegawa licks his lips nervously. President Hinata hums, turning around not to look at Hasegawa, but to gaze at the view of his rose garden. "Have you been out there? Ten? Eleven? Twelve?"

"Not personally, no." the Head Gamemaker murmurs.

"Well, I have." President Hinata says, focusing on a shrub growing with beautiful white roses all over it. "There are lots of underdogs. Coal, too." he chuckles lightly. "Grow crops, minerals, and things we need."

He wipes his fingers with a handkerchief, turning to glance at Hasegawa over his shoulder. "There are lots of underdogs," he repeats, voice dropping a tad lower as he finally faces Hasegawa, his brown eyes piercing into the Head Gamemaker's soul.

"And I think if you could see them," he adds, stepping closer. "You would not root for them either, Ryusei."

President Hinata gives a small smile. "I like you," he tells Hasegawa, his smile deceptively saccharine. "Be careful," he says, this time a clear warning before he pats Hasegawa on the shoulder, walking pass him. 

Leaving Hasegawa alone to ponder in his own thoughts, surrounded by beautiful roses and deadly thorns.

|———|

Osamu doesn't think he's moved from his current spot, absent-mindedly staring off into space ever since Yachi died a few hours ago. 

Loneliness is a feeling Osamu never thought he'd truly experience, as he spent all his life growing up with Atsumu, Nene and Suna constantly by his side. Ever since he split up with Suna since they entered the arena and Yachi's death happened, Osamu has never felt more alone.

He swears he nearly lost his mind when he had to walk away from Yachi's dead body.

 _"Attention tributes, attention,"_ the voice of a Gamemaker announces into the arena. Osamu blankly stares ahead, briefly wondering whatever crazy torturing the Capitol has decided to put them through this time. He doesn't even have the heart to care anymore.

 _"The regulation requiring a single victor has been suspended,"_ the announcement continues, which makes Osamu's eyes widen in surprise. _"From now on, two tributes can be crowned, as long as both originate from the same district. This will be the only announcement."_

The announcement ends, leaving Osamu to gather his own thoughts. He can't even begin the questions he wants to find out the answers to such as why the Gamemakers suddenly came up with this new regulation, but he doesn't really care, because now, there's only one name on his mind. 

"Rin," he whispers under his breath, grabbing his bow as he gets onto his feet. 

He walks out of the forest, passing the trees and is met with the sight of a river. Osamu's gaze shifts onto the trail of liquid on the ground, and he freezes.

Bending down on his knees, Osamu touches the liquid, examining it closely on his finger. It's undeniably blood. 

When he looks up again, a familiar human figure catches his eye, sitting by the river. Osamu realises that's where the trail of blood is leaded to. 

He sprints forward with no hesitation, eyes growing big when his suspicions are confirmed. Suna is sitting there, with a bleeding wound on his leg that looks really painful. 

"Rin!" Osamu gasps, immediately rushing to his side. He gently puts one hand on, Suna's shoulder, one hand hovering above Suna's yet to be treated injury. "What happened to ya?" 

Suna doesn't reply at first. Osamu almost panics for a second before his friend starts chuckling, though his movements cause him to unconsciously move his leg, eliciting an inevitable wince for him.

Despite the pain, Suna still manages to smile at Osamu. "Ah, I certainly wouldn't mind dying when I get to see an angel before my last moments," he closes his eyes, his smile lingering on his lips, though it looks a bit strained, most likely due to the pain he's enduring from his wound. "Well, if angels are this beautiful, I wouldn't mind going towards the light either. Heaven awaits me." 

"Shut up! Don't waste yer energy speaking nonsense!" Osamu snaps, his eyes flashing with clear concern for his friend's wellbeing. "Oh my god, that looks bad. What do we do? I don't know how to treat wounds like this." 

"I tried cleaning it with water to prevent an infection," Suna explains, throwing his head back as he winces, slowly stretching his leg. "Though as you can see, it still hurts and I can't run, which sucks because it's about to get dark soon." 

Osamu anxiously chews on his bottom lip. Suna being unable to run is bad news. But at least, Osamu found him first when he's still at his vulnerable before anyone else. If not, Suna would've been in grave danger. 

"Yer gonna be okay," he tries anyway, using the words he once told Yachi before her death. He doesn't want the same thing happening to Suna, lest Osamu falls apart. 

Suna smiles, "With such an angel by my side, I'm not worried." 

Osamu couldn't help but scoff. "Did ya lose braincells too when ya injured yer leg?" 

"I was complimenting you, y'know." Suna huffs, amused. "Terushima, the Career from One is one irritating prick—" he abruptly pauses mid sentence, looking behind Osamu as he squints his eyes. "What is that?" 

"What?" Osamu asks, instinctively reaching for his bow and arrow, although the look on Suna's face is indicating that the thing which caught his eye isn't a threat to their lives. 

There's something flying towards their direction, an object tied to a mini parachute. Osamu picks it up when it lands near them, realising it's a box. 

He opens it, and both him and Suna peer inside to look at the contents.

"There's a note," Osamu points out, then reads aloud the words scribbled on the piece of paper. _"Apply generously and stay alive. Signed, Kita."_

Suna takes out a small box of cream from the box, which could help with Suna's leg wound. Kita must've seen their current situation on the screen and gotten help for them from sponsors.

"I've never felt more grateful to Kita-san in my life," Suna remarks, taking off the lid of the cream and begins gently applying it on his wound, wincing and flinching as he does.

Osamu puts the cream in his backpack after Suna's done, slinging Suna's arm over his shoulder to support him as Suna limps every step.

They walk away from the river in silence, the sky they see from where they're confined in the arena gradually darkening by the minute. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're close to the final chapter! thanks for sticking around since the first chapter! we love y'all! <3
> 
> extra: we're sorry for the longass delay we were... busy.

"How'd ya get a wound so bad?"

Osamu slowly helps him sit, pausing at every sharp inhale Suna makes until he's finally seated on the ground. They've managed to find a cave, half-hidden by vines and tree roots, that stretches deep into the ground. After checking it out, Osamu deems it safe enough for the two of them to rest in it for a day or two.

Suna sighs, mentally preparing him for Osamu's reaction. He already has a good idea of what it would be. "... I tried to fight Terushima when all I had was a knife."

"Ya idiot!"

He grimaces at the shout he's met with after a brief moment of silence, shying away from Osamu's gaze as his friend glares at him with a look of disbelief in his eyes, visibly infuriated. Osamu smacks him on the shoulder, though he looks apologetic when Suna hisses quietly.

"Why would ya do that?" he scolds him. "I know yer more than capable of killin' someone with a knife but I also know Terushima had a sword!"

The man being scolded groans, "Someone else already gave me the 'that was a stupid thing to do' rundown, I don't want another."

Osamu rolls his eyes, scoffing, "Well, I'm not gonna be the only one who's goin' to give you this. I'm sure Kita-san has plenty to say when we get back."

Suna falls silent, remembering the announcement a few hours prior. "Ah, right," he muses. "Two victors now."

Looking up, he meets Osamu's eyes, lips curling in a bitter smile, "You think they're just playing with us or did they finally give us a rest?"

Osamu closes his mouth, pursing his lips as he mulls over Suna's words. Were the Gamemakers just bluffing? Is this part of their plan? To give them false hope?

He hopes not, for his and Suna's sake, as well as the Head Gamemaker's. Because if they were lying to them, the first thing he's going to do when he gets back to the Capitol is to execute Hasegawa.

"I don't know," he murmurs. "But we're the only team left, we could go back... if it's true."

Suna blinks, processing Osamu's words completely before his shoulders slump. "We could go back..." he repeats quietly, as if trying to make himself believe it. "Alive."

"Alive." Osamu nods, smiling when Suna lets out a breathy chuckle, a smile of his own blooming on his face, a smile that radiates hope for the first time since forever.

Later that night, he wakes from his sleep with a harsh jolt, reeling from his nightmare which consisted of Shirabu's screams and the memory of Yachi's eyes losing their light being replayed over and over again like it was a tape of some sort.

When he looks to his side, Suna is sleeping soundly, using his folded jacket as a pillow. His face looks peaceful in the dim light coming from the entrance, and Osamu's heartbeat evens out, his breaths becoming steady.

But he doubts he'll be able to catch anymore sleep tonight, so he stands up, leaving Suna's side to make his way over to the mouth of the cave. Pushing the vines to the side, he peers up at the moon which dimly illuminates the arena.

He sits down, quietly admiring it as he lets his thoughts run loose in his mind, hoping to get rid of the lingering thoughts of Shirabu and Yachi before they take over his mind.

His hand plays with the Mockingjay pin hidden behind his jacket, tracing over the design and the edges of it. The showcasing of the fallen was a little over an hour or two ago, Osamu vaguely remembers hearing the anthem in his half-asleep state.

He didn't watch it, knowing that seeing Yachi's face among the fallen would've triggered a meltdown.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Osamu startles, quickly turning to look at the man who he thought was still sleeping. He'd been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn't realize Suna had woken up from his sleep.

He scoffs when Suna chuckles, clearly amused by his reaction. His friend gently lowers himself to the ground, taking a seat next to him. Osamu glances at his wound which was wrapped with a leaf instead of cloth due to the lack thereof, but it was better than nothing. He'd rather have that than it getting infected.

"What are you doing up?" Suna's question makes him look away, trailing up until it falls on his profile which the moon illuminates as well. "The sun hasn't even risen yet."

Osamu lets a small smile lift his lips, "I could ask ya the same thing."

Suna doesn't answer right away, keeping his eyes on the moon as he stayed silent. "I wake up to the littlest of things now..." he finally answers. "Felt you jolting awake and I did too."

"Oh.." Osamu's voice trails off. He rubs the back of his neck, "Sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Suna furrows his brows. "It's not like you asked for a nightmare."

Osamu presses his lips into a thin line, not knowing what to say in return to that.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Suna offers gently, scooting closer, careful not to move his injured leg too much.

At the mention of the nightmare he just had, memories of Yachi's pale face, hollow cheeks, and dead eyes flash in his head. Dark crimson flows out of her limp body, splattering all over the ground and seeping into the white flowers surrounding the grass where he last laid her corpse. Osamu still remembers bits of the nightmare, including images of Yachi standing in front of him, the exposed wound on her chest with the knife pierced into it, and streaks of blood down her face.

In his dream, he had tried taking a step towards the girl crying tears of blood, heart aching at every noise she lets out, whimpering and crying for help before she died. Osamu couldn't move, frozen in place as his dreams forced him to relive watching Yachi's death, yet again with him not being able to do anything about it.

He half-registers Suna calling out his name, voice laced with confusion and worry. He hadn't realized his body was trembling. All he could remember was Yachi laying a few feet from him, her life slowly withering away when she was only at the young age of 14.

"Osamu!"

Blinking several times, he lifts his head not to be met with Yachi's corpse and fresh blood streaks, but Suna's concerned face as he looms over him, hands placed on his shoulders as his voice drags Osamu back to reality. 

"Are you okay?" Suna asks worriedly, keeping his voice at a low volume lest they attract attention from others. "You looked _really_ scared just now."

"I'm okay now," Osamu lies, like a coward. The nightmares are still there, lingering in the back of his mind and resurfacing at each unwanted time to put him through immense torture. Obviously, Suna doesn't buy his bullshit even for a second.

Beads of cold sweat roll down Osamu's neck. He desperately tries to get rid of all thoughts involving Yachi or Shirabu and focus solely on Suna. Suna's the one who's still injured, after all. It makes him feel terrible to have unintentionally woken him up because he's had this stupid dream that isn't even real, yet still won't go away.

"You have _got_ to stop pretending to be okay when you're obviously not," Suna says abruptly, "It's okay to not be okay, you know? But you don't have to tell me now either, I know I'm not the _best_ person to confide in."

Osamu contemplates that for a while, hugging his knees to his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut, he exhales a shaky breath and decides that out of most people in the world, Suna would most likely be one of the few that he'd able to talk to about such a topic. "It's... about the girl from District 11."

"Oh," is Suna's first reaction. He doesn't look very surprised, probably already knowing what Yachi's fate had been. "Her name was... Yachi, right?"

"Yeah," Osamu manages to say, voice nearly breaking. He hugs his knees tighter. "She died yesterday. Was killed by a Career from One."

Suna purses his lip, merely nodding his head. He doesn't say anything, but for some reason, Osamu appreciates the silence he's given. 

Looking down at his palm, Osamu remembers the blood that dripped onto his hand. Blood gushed out of Yachi's wound that cascaded across her skin, right through his fingertips. There was so much blood, filling the air with a discreet, metallic scent. 

"She didn't deserve to die," Osamu whispers into the silence. 

"She didn't," Suna agrees quietly. He gazes straight ahead, looking deep in thought. "No one who died in this arena did."

"She was only 14," Osamu murmurs. Fuck, he might tear up again. He tries blinking the tears that threaten to roll down his cheeks away, looking up at the moon that shone above them. "She died in my arms. Ever since then, it feels like there's this gaping hole in my chest, and it just... _hurts."_

There's more silence. He doesn't want to look to see what Suna's expression might be, so he continues staring at the sky, knowing that what he sees is just a realistic-looking projected screen created by the Gamemakers.

"You cared for her," Suna speaks up. Osamu's eyes widen slightly, honestly not really having expected those words. He isn't wrong either, because among many other reasons, Osamu truly did see Yachi as a little sister, even if the time they knew each other was extremely brief.

"When someone we care about leaves us, it feels like we're drowning, stuck in a never-ending nightmare. The pain of it latches onto us and it feels like you'll bleed to death." Suna places one hand on the ground, slowly stretching his legs. His tone is somber. "You and I both know how grief feels like, after all. It only takes several times for one to completely break apart because of it."

Osamu's mother died a long time ago, and so did Suna's family. 

Grief is a peculiar thing. Osamu had almost forgotten this feeling, and now it's come back to haunt him and weigh him down.

It's the price of love. It never ends.

Turning to look at Suna, Osamu immediately locks gazes with him. Suna's eyes are a shade of grayish-yellow, though Osamu's certain they look almost golden at times. Like the lost riches of ancient civilization, or treasures sunken deep into seas of endless depths and dark abysses. 

They hide all the pain and suffering Suna's been through throughout his childhood, shimmering beautifully under the moonlight like twin stars.

Osamu brings his hand up, cupping his cheek. He holds his face gently, brushing a thumb over his moonlit skin as Suna stared at him with bated breath, golden eyes staring at him quizzically.

Those golden-like eyes widen in surprise when Osamu suddenly leans closer, pressing their lips together. 

A look of hurt quickly flashes across Suna's expression the moment their lips touch, disappearing when he shuts them. Osamu doesn't really understand why, but he had other things to worry about.

This should give the Capitol enough of a show. Two tributes, sharing a kiss under the glow of the beautiful moon, surrounded by vines with blossoms growing on them here and there. It's both an angelic and tragic thing, a story of two star-crossed lovers.

He pulls away a few seconds later, breathless. They stared into eachother's eyes for a brief moment, as if searching for something in their separate hues.

Osamu leans back, muttering under his breath, "We should sleep for a bit more before the sun comes up."

"Right," Suna mumbles, retreating back into the cave. He refuses to meet Osamu's gaze, and even sleeps with his back facing Osamu the whole time. Osamu knows him well enough that ever since their conversation and the kiss they shared, Suna didn't really fall asleep after that.

|———|

Osamu wakes up to the chirping of Mockingjays. He turns his head, looking at the mouth of the cave. Sunlight filters through the gap of the vines, drawing bright streaks on the ground which nearly touch his face.

"Morning, sleeping beauty."

Looking away from the vines, he meets the same golden eyes he saw yesterday night, under the shine of the moon. Suna smiles, head propped up on one hand while the other moves to brush some hair off his forehead, before he leans down to place a kiss right above his brow.

Osamu's eyes widen slightly, a pink hue dusting over his cheeks while Suna simply chuckles, finding amusement in his reaction. He purses his lips, willing himself to stay calm. He's going to need to get used to this, had he reacted differently and pushed Suna away instead, their act would've failed.

"Yer breath stinks," he grunts, pushing himself onto his elbows.

His friend— no, pretend-lover— rolls his eyes, gently shoving him. "Shut up. As if yours doesn't too."

Osamu gets up into a sitting position, sighing as he rubs his eyes, trying to rid it of the lingering sleepiness. "What time it is?" he mumbles, turning to look at Suna.

"I'd say around 9 or 10," Suna answers. "Though we can't be sure. There's no clock around here."

Osamu sighs, "Right."

His eyes fall on Suna's bandage, the leaf having wilted a little overnight. Reaching out, he gently traces his finger over it, "Have you checked on your wound yet?"

Suna shakes his head, "No, not yet."

Osamu waits for Suna to roll up his pant leg before slowly undoing the makeshift leaf bandage. His eyes slightly widen in surprise when he sees that Suna's wound has completely scabbed over.

"Wow," he breathes out, giving it a once-over. "That cream Kita-san sent really helped."

Suna nods, as awestruck as him, "I barely feel a thing, guess I don't really have to worry about walking now."

Osamu grabs his water bottle, unscrewing the cap and pouring some water onto the wound to clean it a little. He pulls out the small container and applies some more cream onto it.

Suna winces a little at the contact, but when Osamu looks back at him in concern, he simply smiles, "It's fine, just stings a little."

"How bad?" Osamu questions, putting the container back into his backpack and zipping it up.

"Not as bad as yesterday."

The other nods, quietly mulling over the answer he's given. "I see," he murmurs, standing up.

Suna's eyes follow his figure as he gets up, staring at him firmly, the question in them clear. Osamu sighs, "I'm just gettin' some new leaves for you."

When Osamu returns with the leaves and finishes wrapping up his wound, it takes a decent amount of convincing for Osamu to let him follow him out of the cave to search for food.

"If I hear so much as a wince from ya, we're turnin' back," Osamu hisses quietly, prompting an eyeroll from the other.

Suna huffs, "Alright, I get it. That's the third time you've said that."

"I'm just makin' it clear," he sighs. "Ya should be restin', ya got stabbed in the thigh for god's sake."

"I heard you the first time, dumbass."

"Was just makin' sure it didn't come out the other ear."

"Ha-ha, very funny."

Osamu decides to ignore his sarcastic response, choosing to climb up a tree instead. He carefully makes his way up to the branches at the top, and reaches up to pick the red fruits hanging among the leaves, before tossing them down to Suna, who easily catches it.

He's careful to avoid the ones with red ants crawling all over them, knowing that if he's bitten by one of them, his skin would have itchy rashes over the spot for a couple of days. His mind wanders a little, thinking back to the time Yachi told him about this specific species of ants.

" _When I was a little younger, I always hung around the orchards_ ," she hums. " _I climbed trees and helped pick fruits, and I would always find these little red ants on them._ "

Osamu looks down at her curiously, tilting his head, " _Do they bite?_ "

Yachi nods, smiling softly, " _Yeah, they did. They gave me rashes for days. But it was fun, being able to climb trees and watch the clouds floating by._ "

She sighs, her eyes suddenly clouding over with a distant look. Osamu opens his mouth, about to ask something when she cuts him off.

" _I want to go back to those days_."

He shuts his mouth, her words hitting him hard. Looking down at his hands, he sees how calloused they are from all those times he went out hunting, having been scratched on a sharp rock or pierced by sharp bark. But even so, he would do anything to do the same.

" _... Me too._ "

To go back to those days too.

He jumps back down when they've picked enough, moving over to another tree instead. Suna doesn't question the distant look in his eyes, Osamu figures it's because he already knows the answer.

When the sun is high over their heads, they're back in their hideout, with Osamu chuckling as Suna makes a face at one of the fruits they've picked earlier.

"What is this and why is it so... hairy?" the fruit dangles from his fingers, golden eyes staring at them, completely weirded out.

Osamu laughs, "That's a rambutan."

"An equally weird name for an equally weird fruit," the other mumbles, letting it rest on his palm. "How are we supposed to eat this? Don't tell me we have to bite it like this."

Osamu has to clamp his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from full-on cackling, knowing that if he does that, he would become a beacon for the Careers. He sucks in a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

"No, you have to peel it."

"Thank god."

He uses Suna's knife to make a shallow cut on the peel before peeling it off, revealing what was hidden inside of it.

"Now it's bald," Suna comments bluntly. "It barely looks like a mouthful."

Osamu rolls his eyes, resisting the chuckle that threatened to leave his lips. He holds it out to his friend, "Say ah."

His nose scrunches up a little, before he does as told. Osamu pops it into his mouth, an amused smile lifting his lips as he watches Suna's face morph from slight disgust to surprise.

"Wow," he spits the seed out onto his palm. "That was... sweet."

He raises a brow, smirking, "See? That wasn't so bad now was it?"

Suna huffs, crossing his arms. "It's not bad, I guess."

"Whatever you say, it almost sounds like you like it though," the other chuckles, picking up another. "But I think it's a little too sweet for me."

"You know what's sweeter?"

"What—"

Suna leans forward, capturing his lips in a chaste kiss when Osamu looked up. He grins cheekily as he leans back, eyes glinting with amusement, "Your lips."

Osamu's cheeks immediately flush, skin turning a red hue as if he caught a fever. He quickly turns his head to the side, attempting to hide his reddening face even if Suna already caught him.

"Warn a man before ya do something like that, sweet-talker," Osamu hisses, smacking him on his shoulder. "I've a knife in my hand for the love of god!"

Unbothered, Suna simply lets out a laugh, trying to shield himself from Osamu with his arms as the other is unrelenting with his slapping.

"Ow, ow! Okay, I give, I give!" he steals a glance at Osamu from behind his arms, hearing him huff before going back to peeling the fruits, but the blush on his cheeks remained.

Osamu is laser-focused on his job, forcing his eyes to stay trained on his knife as he cuts off the skin of a mango. Maybe if he pretends the blush on his cheeks wasn't there, he'll be fine.

The warmth from Suna's lips which he felt from the kiss they shared lingered on his, causing his heartrate to skyrocket without showing any signs of slowing down. It's good that Suna got over whatever it is that came upon him yesterday night, but Osamu doesn't know whether that's a blessing or a curse.

He doesn't know what prompted him to kiss his friend. Maybe it was because he was reminded of the act Suna put on for them, or maybe because he has a small inkling of hope that deciding to go along with this could possibly help them get out of here alive.

The Capitol desires a show, that's what he knows very well. Kita's told him that countless times. And most of the time, they get entertainment from blood being spilled and lives being taken. But maybe, just _maybe,_ they won't mind something new?

Osamu's question is answered when he hears an electronic chime coming from the mouth of the cave. He shares a look with Suna, before getting up to go check out what it was.

He returns with the same metal box like yesterday, and when they opened it, they found another note from Kita.

 _"You call that a kiss?"_ Suna reads aloud, and Osamu rolls his eyes. The former pulls the content of the box out. It's a container, which had four onigiris stuffed into it.

Osamu's eyes twinkle. Back at the penthouse, these little triangular balls of rice with various fillings in them were the only things he was fond of and would actually eat during mealtimes if he felt like he couldn't stomach the heavier food. Alisa had an Avox made for him the first time because she thought he might like it. She was right.

Suna takes a bite out of one, nearly crying out of happiness, "God, I thought I'd never get to eat rice again."

"We shouldn't finish it immediately," Osamu tells him, breaking one into half. "Let's save it for dinner too."

"Alright."

When he bites into it, he too nearly nealy burst into tears. The mix of salted rice, dried seaweed and the filling, which seems to be umeboshi, just reminds him too much of home, of Atsumu and Nene.

Food is a hard thing to come by back in District 12. He had gone many days without food before just so he could save some for another day. Atsumu often made onigiri with what little leftover rice and food they had, but he still liked them either way.

Granted, the ones made by the Capitol are better because they have better ingredients. But even so, Osamu still prefers the less salted and breaking apart seaweed just because it had a faint taste of home in it.

The rest of the day went by even more peaceful that Osamu had expected. There were no cannons, meaning no deaths, and that means there are still seven tributes including him and Suna.

And Terushima.

They'd quickly finished the onigiris come sunset, just before they could've gone bad. Their stomachs aren't full but at least they are digesting something.

Osamu stares at the droplets falling onto the ground outside. The rain had started a little over an hour ago and it looks like it won't be stopping anytime soon. He sighs, pulling his hood over his head and hugging his legs close to his chest, trying to shield any patch of skin from the icy wind blowing into the cave.

"You cold?" Suna asks him, moving to sit down next to him.

Osamu frowns, "A little."

"Then, take my jacket too—"

"What? No, there's no need," Osamu frantically tries to stop him, but Suna has already taken it off. "Rin, ya'll be cold too—"

"I don't get cold," he smiled, placing it onto his shoulders. ""I'll be fine, if you're still cold I can cuddle you."

He winks at him, Osamu rolls his eyes.

Osamu should've protested more, because they wouldn't be in this situation the day after.

The rain is still as heavy as ever when he woke up the next morning, the air licking at his cheeks with a icy sting. He blinks, slowly getting up into a sitting position, Suna's jacket sliding down onto his lap.

"Rin?" he turns his head, looking at Suna who was still sleeping, but there's a pinch between his brows. "Rin, wake up."

Osamu reaches out to pat him on the cheeks, but he stops a few centimetres shy, brows knitting together in confusion upon realizing that Suna's skin had a sheen of sweat coating it. He jolts when his hand comes in contact with Suna's skin, flinching back at the sheer hotness of it.

Suna's eyes flutter open, golden eyes disoriented as he groans. Osamu scoots closer, concern overtaking his face when the other gets up into a sitting position, albeit with a little difficulty.

Now that he's closer, Osamu was finally able to hear how harsh his breaths are. They sounded strained, as if one inhale needed more effort than it normally should. His nose must be stuffy and his movements are weak.

"Yer burning up," Osamu hisses, forcing him to put on his jacket despite his protests, which were feeble at best. "I told ya not to take off yer jacket!"

Suna suddenly attempts to get up, and Osamu lurches forward to catch him when he swayes on his feet. His skin is scorching when it brushes against his, Suna's breaths as harsh as ever as he rests briefly against him, trying to regain his energy.

"What are ya doing?" Osamu tries to push him down, but Suna forces himself out of his arms, managing to steady himself on his legs. "Rin, yer sick. Now's not the time to be standin' up!"

Suna shakes his head, hand clutching onto the rock wall for a sense of stability as he slightly sways on his feet. Sweat forms on his forehead, the visage of Osamu's face dividing into two and three as the edges begin to dissipate into darkness.

"I'm fine," he coughs out, finally realizing how dry his throat is. It hurts to talk, much less swallow what little amount of saliva he had. 

He feels Osamu grabbing his shoulder, his voice suddenly sounding oddly distant. His eyebrows furrow, he could see Osamu's face right in front of him, but why does he sound so far away?

 _Ah_ , he thinks, watching as black spots start to overtake his vision. He feels himself lurching forward, mind slowly plunging into darkness with one last thought, _I'm about to pass out_.

He catches sight of Osamu's panicked gaze, gray hues wide with horror and dread.

 _Sorry, 'Samu_.

And with that, he drops into Osamu's arms, succumbing to his exhaustion.

" _Rintarou!_ "

|———|

It's been five hours since Suna fainted, yet he hasn't woken up once. His fever seems to be getting worse at each passing minute, and the rain only seems to rage on.

"Fuck," Osamu curses, gently placing a hand on Suna's forehead. His breaths are still uneven, face entirely flushed and his skin feels boiling hot to Osamu's touch as beads of sweat continue to drip down Suna's neck.

Osamu makes sure to cover Suna's body with his jacket, although the warmth provided by it still isn't enough to shield him entirely from the cold air outside, courtesy of the downpour that rained onto the arena a while ago.

Guilt nearly consumes him whole when he notices how much Suna is actually shivering. With every minute wasted Suna's health deteriorates rapidly without any proper treatment. Being stuck in a cold, empty cave isn't helping their current situation. 

Stupid is the only thing that can describe Osamu right now. He shouldn't have given into Suna's persuading to let him move around albeit still being injured, but wallowing in self-pity as Suna's condition worsens before his eyes won't do anything good. 

_"Attention tributes, attention,"_ his head snaps up at the voice, straining his ears to listen through the sound of the harsh rain. _"Commencing at noon, there will be a feast later at the Cornucopia. This will be no ordinary occasion. Each of you need something, desperately. And we plan to be... generous hosts."_

It falls partially silent after the announcement, Osamu's own heartbeat nearly drowning out the rainfall.

 _Rin's medicine_ , the thought repeats itself like a mantra inside his head.

The Feast, he's heard of that before. Kita has once brought up that the Gamemakers would hold a feast each year at a well-known place by the tributes. There will be important supplies and equipment needed by the tributes placed at the feast, the purpose of it to lure the remaining tributes together when the Gamemakers think the Games are moving too slowly and induce another bloodbath.

There'd surely be medicine that could help Suna with his fever at the feast. But with Suna rendered unconscious, Osamu has to be the one to go collect it.

He could potentially lose his life there and ruin everything, but it's still worth a shot. 

With a goal and a sense of newfound determination driven by wanting to help Suna, Osamu grabs his bow and exits the cave later at noon.

He treks through the forest, eyes scouring his surroundings like a hawk as he partially blends into the leaves. The rain makes it hard to see, gray seemingly everywhere. But he somehow makes it to his destination, hearing the familiar sound of rushing water.

Pushing away the leaves obscuring his vision from the Cornucopia, his eyes fall on a long metal table placed right in front of it. On top of it are bags, each of which with their respective district numbers.

He spots the number twelve at one end of the table through the rain.

Clutching his bow, he's just about to take a step into the open when he sees someone dash out from the forest and into the open.

A black-haired boy snatches the sack belonging to District 10 off the table before disappearing into the bushes.

Osamu lets out the breath he was holding, eyes giving te place another thorough once-over. Mustering all his courage, he runs straight for the table.

The rain should help in concealing him from any other tributes, but he still keeps an eye on his surroundings as he nears the table. He reaches out, snatching the bag off the table and wastes no time in running back into the forest before another tribute decides to come out as well.

 _I did it_ , Osamu comes to a halt when he deems he's far enough from the Cornucopia, hugging the bag tightly against his chest. _Rin's gonna be okay_ —

A branch snaps behind him, his heart drops.

He spins around a second too late. A yelp leaves his lips when he gets shoved against a tree, hands pinned behind him.

The familiar feeling of a knife being pressed against his neck makes him inhale sharply, gray hues suddenly finding themselves staring into a pair of dark, hooded orbs when he manages to turn his head by the slightest bit.

"... It's you," he murmurs, realizing he's staring into the eyes of the surviving tribute of District 4, after his partner had been killed on the first day of the Games.

Kunimi narrows his eyes, "Yes, me. But I don't recall both of us actually introducing ourselves to each other."

The other tribute glances down at the fallen bag on the ground, before his lips quirk up in a smile, "So you also needed something desperately."

Kunimi looks up at him, raising a brow, "But I don't see your admirer anywhere, is he dead?"

Osamu keeps quiet, opting to glower at him. The other man clicks his tongue, "Okay, if you don't want to answer, just keep quiet as I bring you to Terushima."

He grins sinisterly, "He has been waiting to drive his sword through your gut for a while now."

"Would Kindaichi have wanted this?"

Kunimi pauses, staring into Osamu's eyes with a look of shock. But that shock is quickly washed away by a look of anger.

Osamu hisses when the knife is pressed harder against his skin, the tribute leaning down to snarl in his ear, "You know nothing about Yuutarou—"

"But he was killed by a Career, no?" Osamu presses on, cutting him off. "Mercilessly, too. Right on the first day, not even an hour into the games."

Kunimi falls eerily silent at his words, but the pressure on his knife is slightly lighter, so Osamu chooses to try his luck a little more.

"But here you are, working with them," he continues, a little harshly. "What would Kindaichi say? Would he approve of this? After his murderer was a Career itself?"

The knife suddenly feels as if it's gone, but Osamu still knows it's there from how Kunimi is still pressing him against the tree. But suddenly, the weight disappears, and he wastes no time on turning around.

Kunimi stands unmoving a few feet away from him, eyes hidden by his hair. The knife is held tightly in his hand, droplets of water falling onto the ground.

Osamu cautiously picks up his bag, eyes still glued to the other tribute's form.

"Get moving," Kunimi snaps, his voice sounding hostile yet he doesn't look like he's planning on attacking him again. "Before I change my mind."

Osamu turns on his heel and runs off, disappearing into the forest as Kunimi only stands still, fists trembling from how hard they're clutched.

"Fuck, Yuutarou," he lets out a shaky exhale, looking up at the rain. His tears mix with the raindrops, sliding down his face as he sobs, "I finally fucked up, didn't I?"

Terushima is going to kill him for letting his target go, he knows that. Maybe he shouldn't have let the damn guy go, but what he said hit something in him.

He was right, what would Yuutarou say about him? Allying with the same people who killed him, the people who were the sole reason of his untimely death in this tournament.

Taking a deep breath, Kunimi prepares himself for what's to come when he gets back to their camp. Even if he's to go after Osamu, it's already too late anyways. He's long gone by now.

His mind is screaming at him to just run away, better to delay his death by hiding from the remaining Careers. But all he has is just a knife, his things were forced to be shared among everyone when he reluctantly joined forces with the Careers.

He wouldn't survive a day, so he turns, walking back to camp.

He sees Terushima sitting under a tree with Semi in front of him, seemingly applying something on his face. He moves away after a few moments.

"The cream and eye-patch should help, but infection has already started to set in," Semi sighs. "I told you to try and clean it."

"Shut up, the Capitol can fix it for me when I win," the other snarls, but averts his attention to Kunimi when he gets close enough. "You're back, did you find him?"

"Yeah."

Terushima furrows his brows, staring at him with a confused look in his single visible eye, "Then where is he? I told you to bring him back if you found him."

Semi senses the growing anger in his voice, and he looks at Kunimi with a warning look, telling him to lie through his eyes. Kunimi appreciates him trying to look after him, but he's had enough.

"I let him go," he answers, not backing down from the eye-contact, even after Terushima's gaze grew darker.

The Career slowly advances towards him, halting when Semi grabs his arm. The other stares at him with a disapproving look, "Terushima—"

"Let me go, Semi," he utters each word slowly, gaze never leaving Kunimi's. Semi clenches his jaw, but he knows there's no stopping Terushima when he gets like this. He spares a look at Kunimi, slowly letting him go only after Kunimi gives him a nod.

He knows what he's done. And he's already braced himself for the consequences. Semi should try harder, he should pick up a rock and knock the man in front of him out. But his feet are glued to the ground and he watches as Terushima picks up his sword which rested against the tree, getting closer to the younger boy with every step he took.

"You had one job," Terushima spoke lowly, stopping an arm's width away from Kunimi.

Lightning flashes in the sky, pain blooming in Kunimi's stomach as Terushima's blade stabs through him, re-emerging on the other side, coated with blood.

 _It hurts_ , he grits his teeth, biting in the scream that threatens to tear out of his throat when Terushima retracts his sword. He drops onto his knees, gasping as he clutches his wound. Blood spills out from between his fingers, mixing in with the rain that stings when it comes into contact with his wound.

He watches as Terushima steps back, disappearing into who knows where.

But what he didn't expect is someone slowly making him lean back, until his head is resting on someone's lap.

"I'm sorry," Semi murmurs, voice barely audible through the rain.

Even with his vision darkening from the blood rapidly spilling out from his wound, he could see the look of sorrow and regret painted on Semi's face as he tries to shield him from the rain.

This is not what he expected during his last moments. Semi wasn't exactly nice, nor was he exactly mean either. He still remembers when the man handed him some food on the day he joined forces with him. Semi changed the day Shirabu died, becoming quiet and less enthusiastic about joining in with Terushima's antics.

As his eyes start to droop, he directs one last smile to the man, before the light in them ultimately die. 

His body is trembling from the cold, but at least his chest is warm as he passed away in Semi's arms.

Somehow, in his dying breath, Kunimi thinks he's made the right choice. 

Seconds after that, a cannon sounds.

Making it six tributes left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the final (albeit very delayed) chapter of part one!! consider this a christmas present from us lmao

Osamu just about makes it into the cave before he falls forward, collapsing onto the ground in shock, still trying to comprehend what just happened. But before he could even collect his thoughts, a resounding boom causes him to jolt, Kunimi's face flashing in his mind for a brief moment.

Terushima most likely killed him. Like he did to all those other tributes during the bloodbath. Like he did to Kindaichi.

Osamu sighs, resting on the ground for a few minutes, trying to let his breaths even out. He blinks up at the sky, becoming lost in the thoughts which were running wildly in his mind. Prior to his death, Kunimi kept referring to Kindaichi as Yuutarou, which he could only presume was his given name.

He bites on his bottom lip, running a hand through his wet hair as he sighs. He didn't expect Kunimi to actually free him, he was only hoping to catch him off guard so that he could somehow shove him away and flee. But Kunimi quashed his plan when he ended up letting him go, and now... he's gone.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, even if he knows that Kunimi wouldn't be able to hear it. Because of him, he was able to return safely to the cave, to Suna.

"...'Samu?"

Upon hearing Suna's weak voice, he quickly turns his head, locking eyes with his friend's pair which are barely cracked open. He scrambles over to him, letting a relieved smile grow on his face, "Rin, hey. You're awake."

Osamu brushes some hair out of his face, then gently caresses his cheekbone, "How are ya feeling?"

"Horrible," Suna grumbles, clearing his throat. "My throat feels like sandpaper."

The other boy chuckles, reaching out to pick up the water bottle he left with him when he went out. "I see yer finally yerself again," he hums, helping him sit up first before handing the water to him.

Suna takes a few swigs from the bottle, letting out a satisfied sigh after. Turning to Osamu, he tilts his head, "Why do you say that?"

"Well, ya were mumbling nonsense in yer sleep earlier," Osamu answers. "Ya were kinda conscious a few times, but I wouldn't say ya were awake since all ya did was just mutter while being in a slightly delirious state."

"Oh," Suna trails off, slowly taking in Osamu's soaked state, eyes looking him up and down.

His eyebrows knit together and a frown grows on his lips. He brings a hand up, gently holding his cheek. Osamu watches as concern flashes in his eyes, his thumb swiping away a raindrop sliding down his cheek. Even so, he couldn't help but sink into his touch, feeling more tired than ever.

"You're dripping wet," he murmurs. "Where did you go?"

Osamu clutches the bag held in his hands, before placing it on Suna's lap. His friend looks down at it, and upon opening it, finds a bottle of pills.

"Yer condition was gettin' worse by the minute and... I had no choice but to go out," Osamu admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To the Feast?" his friend looks up, dumbfounded. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

Osamu sighs, pushing the bottle of pills closer to him, "Take yer medicine first."

After downing a pill with some water, Suna's attention was back on him, golden eyes nearly burning a hole into his head. "On the way back," Osamu begins. "I had a run-in with the boy from Four."

He clenches his fists, "But I somehow convinced him to let me go and..."

Suna seems to have caught on easily, seeing as how realization shows on his face not even a second after Osamu trails off. He presses his lips into a thin line and quietly asks, "Did Terushima...?"

"... I think so," Osamu answers, nodding slowly. "There was a cannon earlier."

A grim silence falls upon them. Suna looks away, an unreadable expression on his face while Osamu simply stays quiet, letting the pitter-patter of the rain replace their voices.

"How did I get sick?" the other boy decides to break the silence with the one question that has been occupying his mind since he woke up. "This never happened before back in our district, I've slept without a blanket multiple times."

Osamu mulls over his question, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Suna was right about never falling sick from the coldness itself. So what was it that caused him to get so sick? Then, it clicks in his mind when he hears something.

"... Maybe it's not the cold," Osamu mutters, much to Suna's bewilderment.

"What do you—"

"We're in a cave, Rin," he cuts him off. "And also a rainforest, don't ya know what rainforests are full of?"

"Other than odd fruits, weird trees, plants, and creatures?" Suna raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest.

Osamu suddenly claps his hands right in front of his face, making him jolt out of surprise. But when his friend opens his palms, he sees a tiny dot on his hand. His eyes widen, "Mosquitoes."

"Mosquitoes," Osamu confirms, wiping his hands on the leaf. "Ya most likely contracted a sickness only carried by mosquitoes."

"But we were here for two nights, how come you didn't get a bit too?" Suna furrows his brows. "Did you use a repellent?"

The other frowns, shaking his head, "No... at least, not that I know of."

Suna huffs, "I guess this cave wasn't as safe as we thought."

Osamu blinks, before chuckling quietly, "I guess not."

"That... or the mosquitoes are just attracted to my charm," he suddenly directs a mischievous smirk towards his friend, who rolls his eyes but is nevertheless unable to keep the amused smile from growing on his face.

"It may be possible," Osamu hums, smiling softly at Suna. "Considering I was attracted by it too."

Suna stares at him, momentarily dumbfounded. Osamu's eyes slightly widen when his cheeks start to turn a deep red hue, a sly grin taking over the sincere smile as Suna quickly turns his head away, trying to hide the blush from his sight.

"Oh? What's this?" he muses teasingly, aware of how the color on his friend's cheeks only grows darker at his tone. "Is the Suna Rintarou flustered? Why, I never would've thought a day would come."

Suna sends him a warning disguised as a glare, but Osamu doesn't pay it any mind, continuing to poke fun at his red-faced friend, until Suna finally has enough and pushes him onto the ground. What follows is a repeat of what had happened when they were on the train.

Osamu clutches onto Suna's shirt, bringing him along with him as they land on the ground in a fit of laughter. The shorter pushes him off and climbs onto him instead. But Suna has other ideas, and wrestles him back under him, trapping him in between his arms as their laughter never ceased.

They stare at each other, slightly out of breath from their play-fight. Osamu lets out a breathless sigh, chuckling softly as he stares up at Suna with a look full of nothing but fondness, a fondness that Suna knows is real and not part of their little act.

But does play fighting even contribute to their act?

"You know, I would kiss you if it weren't for the fact I'm currently sick," Suna admits, still taking in the sight before him.

Osamu hums, shrugging, "Unfortunate. Maybe next time then?"

"Maybe," he nods, getting off of him.

The other sits up, turning to look at the mouth of the cave. While they were talking, it seems as though the rain had turned into a light drizzle.

"The rain's probably gonna end soon," Osamu murmurs, looking back at Suna who yawns behind his hand, looking slightly drowsy.

He smiles, "Why don't ya get some more rest? I'll make sure the mosquitoes don't bite ya."

"Maybe a nap can do," Suna mutters, slowly laying back down on the ground. Not a moment after, he's out like a light, snoring softly in his sleep.

Osamu shuffles closer, picking up his jacket and draping it over his body, making sure to cover any visible patch of skin. Staring at his peaceful sleeping face, he leans down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"Just a little while longer."

|———|

"Teru—"

The Career growls, harshly shoving Semi away when the other clutches his shoulder, "Stop telling me to take it easy! I'm gonna find that bastard and I'm gonna fucking gut him!"

"Why don't you stop and take a look at yourself first?" the other snaps, visibly irritated with him. "You are running yourself into an early grave! Your eye is infected, you're not eating and you're not sleeping. All that is ever on your mind is just that tribute!"

Terushima whirls around, eye narrowing in anger, "He killed Hana, like hell I'm gonna let him get away with that!"

"You think he didn't suffer a blow as well?" Semi retaliates, stalking over to him. "You saw it too, Terushima. We both saw it! The little girl from Eleven, her body was not so far from Hana, and that discarded knife? I'm sure you can already put two and two together and find out what happened?"

The other Career clenches his jaw, tearing his eyes away from him. "I don't care," he says lowly. "What I care about is the fact that he killed Hana."

Terushima looks up, locking eyes with Semi again as he snarled, walking closer to him, "And he killed Shirabu too, didn't he?"

The angered expression in Semi's eyes wavers a little, a hint of sadness peeking through. He narrows his eyes, forcing them away, "We didn't find his body—"

"He shot an arrow into Hana's chest, and who had the bow and arrows earlier?" he cuts him off, stepping closer and getting into his face. "Shirabu. Isn't that all the evidence you need? He killed him, Semi."

"He could've stolen them instead," Semi hisses, glaring into his eye. "We don't know what happened, there's not enough evidence to prove anything."

Terushima steps back as if he's trying to get a good look at him. He tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly, "And here I thought you would be someone worth my time, Semi."

The other stares at him with a bewildered look, watching as he turns around. "What are you talking about?"

"Why is it that now, you don't want to kill Miya Osamu?" Terushima begins, looking at him over his shoulder. "When you killed all those people during the bloodbath, hm?"

Semi's eyes slightly widened, before he looked away from him, a guilty look taking over the shock on his face. Without bothering to wait for a response, Terushima carries on.

"What makes him different from all those tributes?" he inquires. "Why did you not hesitate to kill them when they haven't done anything to you? Unlike Miya Osamu. We know what he did."

Again, Terushima's questions are left unanswered by the other tribute, who has his eyes trained on the ground, fists clenched tightly to the point his nails might draw blood. The black-haired man turns around, regarding him with a sharp gaze.

"You're a Career, your father was a Victor, you come from a bloodline of Victors," he starts to list out, circling the taller boy like a predator. "You got a 10 in training, you're most deadly with a spear, you're one of the candidates who are capable of winning this."

Semi finally looks up, his eyes dark and voice venomous as he growls, "What is your point?"

"My point is," Terushima narrows his visible eye, hostility flashing in them. "What the fuck is your problem?"

He shoves his shoulder, "You were raised to kill, your job is to kill, why can't you do that?!"

Semi grabs his shirt and roughly slams him against a tree, causing the air to get knocked out of his lungs. He pulls him by his collar, growling louder, "Are you stupid, or are you just fucking blind?!"

"The fuck are you talking about?!" Terushima coughs, trying to push him away.

Semi increases his grip on his collar, his blood practically boiling in his veins. Fellow career or not, ally or not, Semi realizes Terushima's lost all sense to reason. The anger he feels within him feels like a strong wave no longer able to be quelled. "Don't you see the problem in what you just said? Being raised to kill? Don't you see what is wrong with the Games?!"

"Have you gone mad?!" the other Career hisses.

"I thought you would be able to see it too, after Hana died," the ashy-haired boy mutters lowly. "But it turns out it did nothing to you!"

Semi's gaze burns into his eye, the mention of Hana's death having subdued the other boy, "Have you ever thought about what would've happened if Hana wasn't chosen for the Games?"

"Hana wasn't chosen, she volunteered—"

"You and I know that's a lie," he cuts him off. "Her parents forced her into joining the Games. She never wanted to in the first place."

"Have ever stopped and thought about what would've happened if the Games never existed in the first place?" Semi continues, watching the way Terushima's eye widens at that.

Terushima falls silent at that, his gaze slowly becoming downcast as Semi's words echo in his mind, repeating themselves over and over again like an endless mantra. 

Semi frowns, his grip on the other Career's collar loosening a little, "Hana would still be alive, wouldn't she?"

"... But that isn't the case, now is it?" Terushima's eye snaps up. He grabs Semi's wrists, "We don't live in a world where the Games never existed, what can we do about it? Nothing! She's dead, but I can do something, and that's killing her murderer and avenging her!"

He shoves him away, causing Semi to stumble back a few steps. Terushima narrows his eye, baring his teeth, "I don't know what is wrong with you—"

"What is wrong with me?" he points to himself, an incredulous look painting over his face. Semi shook his head, a smile breaking out on his face as his body begins to tremble with laughter. Then, he throws his head back, maniacal laughter bubbling out of his throat.

Terushima glares at him, eye narrowing, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, this is precious," the other sighs, bringing a hand up as if to wipe away some tears from his eyes. "How stubbornly—no, _desperately!_ How desperately you're holding onto your beliefs!"

Semi looks up, the smile never leaving his face, "Let me tell you something, Terushima."

He reaches out, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him closer. Semi leans in, positioning himself right beside his ear.

"Give it up."

Terushima glanced at him, "Wh—"

The taller man pulls away, staring him down with a sharp look that sent chills down his spine, " _Give it up_."

"Don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about," Semi grins, but it's less than friendly. "You're just pretending to be blind to it all, feigning ignorance in hopes that you won't get in trouble, am I right?"

The other keeps quiet, refusing to answer his questions.

"Fine, stay quiet for as long as you like," Semi growls, finally stepping away from him. "But you and I both know Hana's death wasn't caused by Miya, but the Capitol— the president himself."

He turns around, beginning to walk away. Terushima simply lowers his gaze. He clenches his fists, "... They heard everything you said."

Semi halts his steps. "So be it, at least I can finally see their lies," he mutters.

"You're making a big mistake," Terushima says quietly, almost warily even.

The other looks over his shoulder, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

 _There are cameras everywhere,_ Terushima tells himself. Even if he lowers his voice, they can pick up on everything he says. After all, you can never hide secrets from the Capitol, from _him._

"Believe me, I know what you're talking about, but pretending to be blind to it all—" he paused, gritting his teeth.

"—is better than getting executed by him, _himself_. _"_

|———|

"Ah, fresh air," Suna groans the moment he stepped out of the cave, stretching like a cat. "How I've missed you."

Osamu follows him closely from behind, quickly giving their surroundings a thorough once-over. He glances at his companion, letting a smile curve his lips, "Yer being overdramatic, we went out yesterday."

"I was unconscious for hours and it feels like I haven't walked in years," grumbles the other, receiving a pop sound after raising his hands over his head. "God, that felt good."

He receives a snort from Osamu, who smacks him lightly on his stomach, "Geezer."

"Babyface."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank ya."

"How's that any better from geezer?"

"C'mon, Rin," Osamu chuckles, giving him a teasing look. "Everyone likes a young face."

Suna rolls his eyes, clearly lacking the same amusement as him. "Riiight."

They begin to stray away from the cave that had been their little hide-out for two days, trekking through the forest in search of another, more safer, place to stay at. Hopefully long enough for the other tributes to kill each other.

"Tsukishima should still be around somewhere, but I don't think we're gonna run into him," Suna murmurs, resisting the urge to shiver at the cold water splashing onto him as he crosses the river. "Because knowing him, he'd avoid everyone like the plague."

Osamu nods, helping him get out of the water and onto the riverbank, "Terushima and Semi would be by the Cornucopia, and they're not gonna go someplace they don't know."

"And as for Moniwa," he sighs, shrugging. "He could be anywhere."

The other looks around, letting his eyes roam over the forest floor, "We should probably hunt around here, we don't have any food left."

"Sure, I'll take the bow then?" Suna raises a brow, holding his hand out to Osamu expectantly, who only gives him a look, then playfully swatting his hand away. He chuckles, "Alright, alright. I'll go forage."

Osamu leans in, kissing the side of his lips, "Don't stray too far."

He gets a lazy grin in return, "You're the boss."

Suna turns, walking over to some bushes while Osamu heads in the opposite direction in search of a small animal or two.

He looks up, peering at the grey clouds which drift by. A breeze rustles the leaves, sending a slight shiver down his spine when it brushes against his skin. His ears perk up at the sound of chirping and he turns, spotting a bird perched on a branch not so far from where he stands.

Osamu lifts his bow, pulling on his bowstring as he aims the tip of his arrow at the bird. He inhales quietly, waiting for the wind to die down before letting the arrow fly.

It hits thin air when a loud boom resounds in the air, spooking his prey and causing it to fly off in a frenzy. He turns around, eyes growing wide with fear as a single name falls from his lips, "Rintarou."

Without wasting another minute, he breaks off into a sprint in the direction he came from. "Rintarou!" he screams, shoving past the bushes he went behind.

But the boy in question is nowhere in sight, nor is there any trace of him. Osamu's heart hammers on loudly in his chest, and for one, heart-stopping second. He thinks his worst fears might've actually come true.

"Where are ya?!" he shouts, hoping for at least a response, as quiet as it can be. "Rintaro—"

"Osamu!"

Osamu gasps when strong arms enveloped him in a tight hug, his bow falling from his hand. Tears start to well up in his eyes, and he grabs onto the back of Suna's shirt, hugging him back in the same manner.

"I thought I lost ya," he whispers into his shoulder, feeling Suna's arms tighten around him more. "When I heard that cannon, I thought the worst had happened. Ya scared me to death, damn ya."

Suna strokes the back of his head, shushing him, "It's okay, nothing bad happened. I'm right here, 'Samu."

Osamu lets out a shaky breath, allowing himself to relax in his companion's safe hold as he tries to compose himself. Suna continues to stroke his hair, murmuring quiet encouragements to him until his breaths had evened out.

A few moments later, they're staring down at Moniwa's body, having found him leaning against a tree with a few berries on his lap and clutched in his limp hand.

"Nightlock," Suna speaks up before Osamu could've. "They can kill you within minutes. Seems like Moniwa here wanted that."

The other boy gulps, staring down at the body with a frown, "He... took his own life."

"Yeah," Suna murmurs.

Osamu kneels, reaching out to take a few from his hand. _These look exactly like blueberries,_ he notes, feeling a slight shiver course through. If he hadn't known any better, he would've ended up like this poor tribute too.

Suna tilts his head, "What are you doing?"

He stands up, giving him a sly grin as he pockets them, "Maybe Terushima and Semi like berries too."

The other stares at him in surprise, before smiling as well, "Good plan."

"Let's go, we shouldn't stay here any longer," he places a hand on the small of Osamu's back, gently nudging him to move. "We've made enough noise."

Osamu stares into Moniwa's lifeless eyes for a few more moments before looking away, willing himself to not look back as he lets Suna guide him further from the body.

He doesn't know how long they'd been walking through the forest, but it surely hadn't been hours. So when the sky slowly begins to plunge into darkness, confusion flashes in his eyes.

"What time is it?" he mutters, staring up at the ever-darkening sky with a skeptical gaze.

Suna pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes, "Close to evening... but not night."

"Why's it getting so dark?" Osamu frowns, feeling slightly uneased.

The other boy halts in his tracks, making him stop too. "... Must be in a hurry to end it," he says lowly.

Upon noticing the grim look on his face, Osamu, too, feels the sudden drop of mood. There's barely enough light for them to see their surroundings clearly, and who knows what's lurking in the woods now.

He readies his bow, and Suna pulls out his knives, one of which had once belonged to Terushima. Osamu holds his breath, straining his ears to listen for anything out of the ordinary. It was quiet, aside from a few crickets and other noises of nature.

But when a scream breaks out, accompanied by animalistic growls and resounding howls, Osamu knows they're no longer only dealing with humans, but rather mutations too. A cannon goes off not a minute after and Tsukishima's face is shown up in the sky.

He and Suna share a look, mutual understanding being exchanged between them as they held each other's gazes.

"...Looks like we're down to the finale," Osamu mutters, attempting a smile.

"Be careful," the other replies, returning the smile, albeit half-heartedly.

He looks back in front of him, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, before continuing to advance forward. They pause and listen to every sound similar to a footstep, and Osamu wishes he'd been born with night vision because it's near impossible to see with this lighting.

Soft and fast-paced footsteps make him freeze, causing Suna to bump into him. He doesn't meet Suna's eyes when the other man throws him a look, choosing to peer in the direction the sounds came from. But it's hard, since they're coming from his left and then his right, until it becomes obvious something is circling them.

Cold sweat rolls down his face, his teeth gritted to the point his jaw hurts. Suna is quiet behind him, but he could tell his friend is also on edge, trying his damnedest to find out whatever it is that's circling them.

His eyes widen when a dog-like mutation jumps out from the bushes, jaw snapping at them as it growls.

"Fuck!" he shoots an arrow into its chest as it leaps at him, just as another reveals itself. "Run, run!"

Osamu pushes against Suna, letting him go ahead as they sprint across the forest grounds with mutts snapping their teeth at their ankles. The forest seems endless as they continue to jump over roots and duck under low branches until Osamu's foot gets caught on a badly placed root.

He rolls on the ground, not given a moment to catch his breath when a mutt immediately climbs onto him. Its large jaw gets dangerously close to his neck, teeth nearly nipping at his skin if it weren't for him using his bow to push it back.

With a grunt and no ounce of mercy, Suna stabs his knife through its neck and kicks it up. He hoists Osamu onto his feet, and this time it's him who stands at the back, "Keep moving!"

He can't feel his legs anymore, but Osamu doesn't dare stop, even when he's probably on the verge of passing out due to not being able to get his breaths in properly. They come to a skidding halt when the shade over their heads suddenly disappears and the trees surrounding them end.

Panting harshly, Osamu peers up at the cliffs looming over them like a giant, feeling as if he's shrunken as he continues to stare up at it.

"Agh!"

He nearly snaps his neck with how fast he turned, stumbling on his feet to get into a defensive position when his eyes fell on a certain ashy-haired male.

Semi's forearm is stuck in the mouth of a mutt, crimson blood flowing down his skin as he tries to kick it off. "Get off me!" he grunts, face twisted in pain.

Osamu and Suna choose to back off, however, they freeze in their tracks when they hear a growl coming from behind them. Another pack of mutts prowls out from the shadows, baring their teeth ferally.

"Shit," he hears Suna curse behind him, the two of them backtracking. But any further and they'll fall off the edge of the map to who knows where.

His eyes found themselves wandering over to Semi once again, and he watches as another silhouette comes out from the shadows, bearing a face that he knows too well.

Terushima brings his sword down on the mutt's neck, nearly slicing it off. Semi doesn't waste another second to kick its body off, cradling his wounded arm close to his chest.

"'Samu, look," Osamu tears his eyes away from the Careers, looking in the direction Suna is referring to. He watches as the mutts give them one last huff before running back into the forest as if their motive was to just scare them out of the forest this entire time.

Suna lets out a breath, "They're gone."

"Terushima!"

Semi's alarmed shout makes them look back at their company, just in time to see said man collapse into his ally's arms, his sword falling from his hands. It was at that moment Osamu finally notices the red splotch on his jacket.

Terushima's breaths are calm yet strained, the splotch on his jacket is getting bigger by the minute. Semi saw him go down earlier, but he didn't realize he'd been wounded. He tears open his jacket, and his face pales at the sight.

"Give it up."

He looks back at the man in his arms, an incredulous look painting over his face, "What?"

Terushima inhales slowly, "Give it up, this isn't something... you can fix."

Semi bites his bottom lip, his gaze becoming downcast, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" the other huffs as if he's amused. "I was going to... kill you in the end, so there's... no need to apologize."

 _Right, of course._ Semi grits his teeth. He'd forgotten all about that. The fate of the Careers, which ends with only one remaining in the entire pack.

"Congratulations... Semi," Terushima croaks out, giving him a weak grin. "You're the... last one standing."

"Shirabu would be... proud."

 _Would he?_ Semi frowns, staring down at Terushima as his eyes begin to droop, his breaths becoming more quiet and relaxed. _Would he really be proud of him for murdering all those people? Granted, Shirabu did too but, did he ever feel wrong?_

Terushima inhales shakily, blinking up at the night sky as his vision begins to darken. "All I wanted—" a few tears escape his eye, just as his last breath leaves his lips. "—was to love her..."

And with that, the light fades from his eye with a cannon going off. Semi clenches his fists, taking a deep breath before reaching up to close his eye. He lowers him to the ground, positioning his hand so that it laid on his chest.

"... If you want to kill me, make it quick," he mutters, looking at the two tributes standing a few feet away from him.

Suna narrows his eyes, "How do we know if you're not just trying to get us closer so that you can ambush us?"

Semi sighs, slowly rising to his feet. He makes quick work of taking out the singular knife he had and throwing it far away, then taking off his jacket and discarding it as well. Suna watches as he turns towards them, opening his arms to show them that he is in fact, completely empty-handed this time.

"Happy now?" he raises a brow.

Osamu pressed his lips into a thin line, staring at him with a skeptical look. "Why... Why are you surrendering?" he questions hesitantly.

"Why, you ask.." Semi trails off as if searching for the answer himself. He looks down at his hands, hands which were stained with blood since the start of the Games, hands which were littered with scars of past cuts from training, hands of a _murderer_.

He grits his teeth, "Because... I've had enough."

Suna furrows his brows, "What?"

"I've had enough," Semi repeats, looking back up. "Of killing, of being in the Games, of being a pawn."

He approaches them, though Suna and Osamu still have their weapons pointed at him. If he tries anything, Suna would be able to throw his knife into his neck whilst Osamu can shoot an arrow straight into his heart. However, Osamu feels as if the words leaving his lips were truly genuine.

"My life had been dedicated for the Games since the day I was able to wield a knife," Semi says, "Every choice I had to make had to be for the Games and only that."

"But here, I can make a choice... and that's surrendering to you and having you take my life, instead of dying in any of their predicted ways."

He stops a few feet away from Osamu, letting his arrow point at his heart. "So please," Osamu gulps, his hands beginning to tremble as Semi stares into his eyes with a desperate look. "Kill me no—"

"I... I can't," he drops his bow. The ashy-haired man's face falls, watching as Osamu backtracks from him, shaking his head, "No, no... not like this, I don't want to take a life being surrendered to me."

He grits his teeth, "At least try— try to hurt me!"

Semi shakes his head, chuckling quietly, "I'm done fighting, there's no more energy for me to pick up a weapon."

"T-Then I can't," Osamu clenched his fists. "I'm sorry."

"That's alright," he looks at Suna, who also shakes his head, an apologetic look in his eyes. Though he can't deny he wants to stab a knife through his heart, he knows he wouldn't be able to do it just like Osamu. Whether it's out of pettiness or reluctance, he doesn't know.

Semi keeps quiet, nodding. "I see..."

Osamu bites his lip, wondering if this is truly the right thing to do. To stretch on the Games for longer than it should.

"Well," he sighs, shrugging. "I guess it can't be helped."

Semi turns around and stops. He stares off into the distance, looking at the edge of the cliff with a blank look, the wind tousling his ashy-gray locks with every breeze.

"You know... growing up, I was taught that being in the Games and seizing victory was the greatest thing ever," he murmurs, slowly walking forward. " I practically worshipped my father who was a victor."

Osamu furrows his brows, "Hey—"

"But now? After being in the Games myself, I don't see the glory. I don't see the passion, the victorious feeling," he chuckles bitterly, ignoring Osamu's call.

"I see dread."

Shirabu's screams, moments before he was ripped away by the flood.

"I see fear."

Yachi's fearful gaze as she stared up into his eyes, bloody hands clutching onto his own.

"I see death."

Terushima's dulling eye as he let out his last breath in his arms.

Semi stops right by the edge of the cliff, the wind licking at his cheeks as they blow up at him, sending a chill down his spine as he inhales shakily.

"Stop!" Osamu screams out, but he's kept in place by Suna who grabs onto him by his forearm. He looks back at him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "Rin, what are ya— let me go!"

Suna simply increases his grip on his hand, "This is what he wants... you can't stop him."

"No— wait!" he looks back at the Career, who has turned around to give him a smile, one last smile. "Don't do this!"

"I've had enough of being a piece on the Capitols' playmat," Semi says quietly, opening his arms. "So... this is my goodbye."

Osamu reaches out as if he's still trying to grab him, even if he is too far away. He could only watch, with a scream tearing out of his throat, as Semi leans back. His hand closes around nothing as his figure falls off the cliff, disappearing into the darkness in a blink.

His knees give out and he falls, a cannon going off the moment he drops in a heap onto the ground.

"... He's gone," Suna announces blankly. He looks up at the sky where it changes from dark blue to a bright orange, the moon setting while the sun rises.

Osamu is still kneeling on the ground, arms hanging limply at his side as he silently weeps. But he looks up upon hearing the sound of a microphone turning on, and the familiar voice of Lev's co-host speaking.

 _"Attention, attention tributes,"_ he blinks, staring impassively at the sky. A part of him wants to just curl into a ball on the ground and cry for days, but he knows it's better to listen to this announcement, knowing the Capitol, it'd be either bad... or downright horrible.

 _"There has been a slight... rule change,"_ Osamu's eyebrows knit together in suspicion. He didn't like the way he said that. It feels a little too ominous for his liking.

_"The previous revision, allowing for two tributes from the same district has been... revoked."_

His mind draws a blank. _What?_

_"Only one victor may be crowned, good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

He should've known. He should've known that the Capitol would never be merciful. It was foolish of him to think that he and Suna would actually be able to return home together. The President must be laughing at him at this very moment.

Osamu slowly turns to look at Suna, meeting his oddly calm gaze. Something flashes in those golden eyes of his, and Osamu's gaze sharpens into a glare, "No."

The taller boy chuckles, "I didn't even say anything."

"I already know what you're implying through your eyes," he growls. "My answer is no."

Suna's smile falls, "'Samu—"

"No!" he grits out. "There has to be another way!"

"What other way is there?" Suna sighs. He holds out his knife to him, watching as Osamu's eyes move to stare at it with a fearful gaze, before moving up to lock with his. "It's the only way left, 'Samu. One of us has to die, they have to have their victor. And you need to go home, to Atsumu and to Nene."

"But so do you. Ya have go home to them too." Osamu insists weakly.

Suna sighs, "You and I both know that when it really comes down to it—" he looks up to meet Osamu's gray eyes. "They'd choose you. The Capitol only needs one victor."

Osamu falls silent at that, multiple thoughts running through his mind until something returns to the front of it He walks forward, snatching the knife off Suna's palm, then stops right in front of him.

Staring down at the knife, Osamu clutches onto it, before ultimately throwing it off the cliff, much to Suna's astonishment.

"Osamu, what are you—"

"No, they don't," he cuts him off, staring into his eyes with a firm gaze. "Why should they?"

Suna watches, wide-eyed, as he digs his hand into his pocket, pulling out the berries he had pocketed earlier and holding them out to him.

"What? No—"

Osamu holds his cheek, making him look into his stormy gray hues which have a look of certainty stowed away within them, "Trust me."

Staring into his eyes for a few more moments, Suna finally nods, albeit reluctantly, "... Okay."

After dividing the berries between each other, silence hangs heavy between them. But while Suna iss thinking about how all of this is going to turn out, Osamu's mind is focused on the man who is currently watching all of this unfolding.

_Are ya watching, Hasegawa?_

Suna looks up, offering him a weak smile, "Together?"

Osamu smiles back at him, "Together."

_Ya wouldn't want to lose two victors, would ya?_

"Stop, stop!" a shout belonging to the Head Gamemaker himself causes them to halt the moment the berries are right about to fall into their mouths. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners of the 74th annual Hunger Games."

Suna looks back at him, a relieved look overtaking his features as he drops the berries to pull Osamu into a tight hug, sighing into his shoulder. Osamu, too, feels relief invade his system, nearly falling to his knees if it weren't for Suna holding onto him so tightly.

|———|

Everything after that was a blur, he barely remembered anything but a hovercraft coming to fetch them so that they could return to the Capitol. He didn't actually expect his plan to work, he'd made it up on the spot when he remembered the berries in his pockets.

When they set foot back in their penthouse, he nearly cries when he sees Alisa, Aran, and Kita's faces again. But the grim look on Kita's face tells him all about how his mentor feels about his precarious plan, and that's how he found himself on the balcony after getting cleaned up.

"They're not happy with you," the older man sighs, regarding him with a stern gaze while Osamu keeps his own fixated on the horizon.

He crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes, "Why? Because I didn't die?"

Kita glances at him, a frown growing on his lips, "Because you showed them up."

"Well," he scoffs. "I'm sorry things didn't go the way they planned, I'm not very happy with them either—"

"Osamu-kun, this is serious," Kita cuts him off. "Not just for you. They don't take these things lightly."

Osamu turns, finally meeting his mentor's gaze and sees the conflicted look in them. He knows he shouldn't have done such a thing, but he didn't want Suna to die in the arena just as much as the other didn't want him to succumb to the same fate.

The next day, he and Suna find themselves sharing a loveseat on Lev's stage, facing the audience with faux smiles painted over their lips, a matching couple outfit, and their intertwined hands resting on his lap.

 _"When they ask, you say you couldn't help yourself,"_ Kita's words repeat themselves in his mind as he zones out Lev's rambling. _"You were so in love with this boy that the thought of being without him was unthinkable."_

 _"You'd—You'd rather die than not be with him, understand?"_ he remembers nodding to his words right before he went on stage.

"How did you feel when you found him by that river?" Osamu blinks, barely able to catch Lev's question as he snaps out of his mind.

He smiles saccharinely, increasing his grip on Suna's hand as he turns to stare into his eyes, "I felt like the happiest person in the world, my heart leaped in joy."

Lev sighs fondly while Suna returns the smile, squeezing Osamu's hand.

"And what about you, Suna-san?"

He chuckles, "He saved my life."

"We saved each other," Osamu adds, eliciting a swoon from the crowd as their hearts collectively swell at his words.

Lev nods, smiling brightly as he turns to face the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, the star-crossed lovers from District 12. This year's victors of the 74th Hunger Games!"

Meeting the president in person was more nerve-wracking than he thought it'd be.

His heart had been seconds away from jumping out of his throat during his crowning as he watches the president lift the crown off the pillow, before approaching him. Osamu stands, lowering his head slightly for him to place it on his hair. It's a bit heavy, but not heavier than the president's gaze on him.

President Hinata smiles. Whether it's real or not, Osamu doesn''t know. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he replies, his throat feeling dry.

The president's hazel eyes slowly move down, landing on the golden Mockingjay pin on his shirt. "What a lovely pin," he hums.

Osamu feigns a smile, "Thank you, it's from my district."

He looks up, regarding him with an unreadable gaze, "They must be very proud of you."

Clenching his fists, Osamu has to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself calm. It feels as if the president is staring directly into his soul, as if he's able to see all of the secrets he'd kept hidden all this time.

"So what happens when we get back?" Suna asks him on their way back to their district, to their _home,_ to Atsumu and Nene.

Osamu blinks, never taking his eyes off the changing scenery, "I don't know, I guess we try to forget."

He turns, meeting Suna's slightly hurt gaze. "I don't want to forget," he whispers.

Kita stares at them from behind, his drink long forgotten on the table. For once, he hadn't picked it up and downed it within seconds. He huffs at Alisa when she'd let out a happy sound and snatches his drink to pour it away. But his eyes quickly return to the two boys standing in front of him, his worry for their wellbeing only growing bigger by the minute.

A few hours later, they're greeted by a large crowd the moment they step off the train, and once again, Osamu has to fake a smile and wave at the crowd. If he's being completely honest, he rushed it since he's still itching all over to see his siblings again. 

But when the crowd dispersed, he's met with a pair of familiar, warm brown hues. Atsumu stands a few feet from him, a trembling smile on his lips as happy tears roll down his cheeks. Nene stood close to him, hands clamped over her mouth as her tears are already escaping her eyes.

"Welcome home, Osamu!" they yell, and Osamu doesn't hesitate to run towards them. Atsumu opens his arms, easily welcoming Osamu into them. He wraps his arms around them both, sobbing into Atsumu's shoulder as he holds him close, also letting his tears stain Osamu's shirt.

Suna stares at them from afar, a fond smile growing on his lips as his heart swelled at their reunion. He chose to stay back when Osamu had ran forward, not wanting to intrude and ruin what was supposed to be a happy moment. But Atsumu was having none of that.

He flashes him a wide grin, holding out an arm towards him, "Sunarin, don't just stand there!"

Suna chuckles, making his way over to them only for Atsumu to grab him the moment he's close enough, bringing him into the hug as well and eliciting chuckles from everyone. Osamu glances at him, and weaves an arm around his waist, bringing his closer to his side.

Alisa coos, smiling warmly at them, "Would you look at that? What a happy reunion."

Kita steps off the train behind her, staring at them with a miniscule smile as the wind tousles his hair. Atsumu looks up at that very moment, locking eyes with him. His heart nearly stops in his chest, realizing that this is the first time in ten years he'd seen Atsumu again.

Atsumu barely feels Osamu and Suna pull away from their hug, feels time pausing as if the world had suddenly stopped moving, his widened eyes fixated on his childhood caretaker— who looks older, more mature than he last remembered from his memories— currently approaching them.

He isn't able to utter a single word. Not even when Kita stops a feet away from where he stands, staring at him with a small smile on his face. The dark bangs hanging under his eyes are prominent, he's a bit taller, features more matured, but he's still undeniably the boy that raised Atsumu and his family when their mother passed. 

"Atsumu-kun," he hears Kita call out his name softly. It's been years since he heard that voice. Atsumu hadn't realized he'd missed it so dearly. 

Tears are once again pooling in the corners of his eyes. He wipes a few threatening to roll down his cheek with the back of his hand, struggling a bit to make sure his voice doesn't waver. "Kita-san," he greets, and although he managed not to stutter, it sounded weak. Kita doesn't seem to mind. 

"You've grown," Kita points out, a beat of silence passes, and for once Atsumu has no cheeky remark to reply with. Not when he's seeing the man who was once portrayed as his role model in nearly a decade. 

Nothing happens for a few seconds, but in a blink of an eye Atsumu is stumbling forward and falling into Kita's open arms. Wrapping his arms around the older man's shoulders his fingers grip onto the fabric of his clothes so hard they could crease. It takes exactly three seconds before the dam bursts and all his emotions are pouring out, which results in Atsumu crying in Kita's hold. 

Kita's palm radiates warmth as it caresses the back of Atsumu's head. "You're even taller than me now," he chuckles, patiently listening to Atsumu sob hysterically. "I know, I know." 

The older man's voice never failed to console him when he as a child. It seems like that habit hasn't faded over time. 

Only minutes passed, but it feels like an eternity did when Atsumu finally slowly lets go, like he's afraid Kita might vanish from his life again if he does. On the sidelines, Osamu had been observing the entire exchange and if it were any other situation he would've laughed at the amount of tears Atsumu shed today.

A shorter figure appears within Osamu's line of view, which he instantly recognizes as his sister. Nene hadn't let go of him ever since he returned, but finally gave Osamu a chance to breath again when she pulls away to watch a crying Atsumu hug a man whom she sees as a stranger.

But somewhere in the depths of her mind, those hazel eyes of his seem familiar.

Nene tilts her head. From what her older brothers had told her, their mother had passed when she was barely a month old and a family friend took them in after her death. Could this be him?

"Ya must be wonderin' who he is, aren't ya?" she looks up at Osamu, slightly surprised.

He chuckles, stroking her hair, "That's Kita-san, he and his grandma were the ones who took us in after Mom passed away."

 _Kita-san._ She looks back at him, flinching when she meets his gaze. Pink colours her cheeks down to her ears when she realizes she just got caught staring at him. With a squeak, she scrambles to hide behind her brother, earning an amused huff from him, "What are ya hidin' for?"

"Is that...?" Kita trails off, surprise shown on his face as he looks at Atsumu for confirmation. 

Atsumu glances in his siblings' direction, chuckling softly as he nods, "Yeah, that's her."

Kita falls silent, his gaze becoming soft. It had been ten years after all. Instead of two, she's twelve now. The last time he saw her was when he had returned from the Games. She was still a toddler at the time, her steps still wobbly when she made her way over to him.

He's pretty sure she can't even recall his face after having not seen it for so long. But he can see traces of her mother in her features. Her eyes are reminiscent of her mother and her brother, a similarity not shared by Osamu who had inherited his father's stormy gray eyes instead.

But her eyes hold the same gentle look her mother did all those years ago, when she was still alive.

Fingers hesitantly loosening on the grip she had on Osamu's shirt, Nene slowly peers up from behind her brother's figure, locking gazes with Kita again. She was no longer the adorable, helpless toddler Kita knew all those years ago, and had blossomed into a beautiful young lady during his absence in their lives.

Before he even realizes it himself, Kita finds his own feet taking slow steps towards Nene. Suna quietly moves aside, while Osamu gently pushes Nene forward and walks away with Suna, leaving the two alone to talk. 

"Hello," Kita initiates the conversation first, smiling gently. 

"... Hi," Nene whispers. There's still evident hesitancy lingering in her expression, but at the same time it looks like she's studying Kita's features in an attempt to somehow remember him.

Silence befalls on them. Kita takes his time staring at Nene's every feature. She's definitely taller now, long black locks that fall below her shoulders so alike the hairstyle her late mother used to have. Brown eyes identical to Atsumu and their mother stare back at him, wide with curiosity and slight confusion.

"You look just like your mother," Kita says in a soft tone. His voice practically bleeds with fondness. "And you've grown into such a beautiful young girl."

To Nene, the man with white hair and hazel eyes standing before her is but a hazy blur in her memories. Her family used to have a history with this man, according to Osamu— but sadly she couldn't recall a single thing about him from when she was much younger.

Yet his voice sounds quite familiar in her ears. It's low, deep and comforting.

"You may not remember me anymore, but that's okay," Kita says, interrupting her thoughts. The older man couldn't stop smiling, but it looks as if he's on the verge of tearing up. "I used to sing to you when you were younger. You were... very small, at the time."

His words awaken an old, nearly forgotten memory. It hits Nene right then and there why Kita's voice sounded oddly familiar to her. The lullaby her older brothers sing to her was once sung by Kita years ago when she was a baby, which was a song that their mother came up with before she died.

Abruptly, Nene feels herself on the verge of tears. She takes a step closer and wraps her arms around Kita as tightly as she could, obviously startling the older man who does nothing to push her away. 

"Nene?" he asks worriedly as she presses her face into the fabric of Kita's shirt, arms locked around his waist. 

"Welcome back," Nene says softly. Kita freezes for a second, feels his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. Slowly, he reaches up to card his fingers through Nene's hair, nods, and lets his tears fall. 

His hand trembles where its rested atop of Nene's head, but Nene places her own smaller palm above his, lifting her head to give him a smile, eyes crinkling. And for once, in a long, long time, Kita feels warm. 

The Hunger Games have ended, and both Osamu and Suna are back home. Osamu stares at his family with a happy smile, unaware of the fact that this is just the beginning of what is to come next. 

Their story has yet to be finished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for staying till the end of part one of our sunaosa hunger games series!! part two will probably be out by 2021 :D 
> 
> (don't trust us, u might find the book out by tmrw or smth)

**Author's Note:**

> the writers:
> 
> jean: glamouroki, @uselessentity_ on twitter  
> sam: milkywaykaashi, @zhonglisbroke on twitter  
> feel free to come chat with us (n˘v˘•)¬
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


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